


Candyleg

by 5cents



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 1959, Bank robber Ben Solo, Bensexual Rey, Daddy Kink, Devoted Reylo, Doggy Style, F/M, Gun Moll Rey, Hardboiled pulp, Height difference, Idiots in Love, Lactation Kink, Loss of Virginity, Love at First Sight, Misogyny, Naked Female Clothed Male, Nipple Play, Older Man/Younger Woman, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Pool Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnant Sex, Reysexual Ben, Sigmund Freud should have a writing credit, Size Kink, Titty Love, Virgin Ben Solo, Virgin Rey, mob-related violence, noir, seedy characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2019-10-26 08:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 50
Words: 115,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17742656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5cents/pseuds/5cents
Summary: 💥🔫💰She was the sweet little stool pigeon who fell in love with the mob’s fall guy.💥🔫💰🎲 To the victim go the spoils 🎲🎱🎱🎱Rey was damaged goods, kicked around by the gang and used according to its whims. No one took her seriously, and her life story read like one long cruel joke. She was brunette dynamite, so they gave her the job of warming up Ben Solo, the master thief who just spent twelve years cooling his heels in The Prism.🎱🎱🎱♣️♦️♥️♠️🃏The girl was too young, but old enough to have a hustler’s-eye view of her own bleak future. The boys were paying her to do a snow job on a candyleg, but she was beginning to love her work and love Solo, and she decided to stick with him till death did them part...♣️♦️♥️♠️🃏





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saga/gifts), [cryforwhat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryforwhat/gifts), [aysteria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aysteria/gifts), [Jess444](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess444/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special THANK YOU to my dear friends:
> 
> My angel Saga (ballerosaga) for her amazing artwork which captured the tone of the story and breathed life into it ❤
> 
> My soul-twin Sasha (cryforwhat) for her hard work and researching what goes into the glossaries ❤️
> 
> My cheerleaders 📣 Aysteria and Jess444 for their encouragement, loyalty and always inspiring me to do my best ❤️

From the moment Ben Solo stepped into the motor launch, he never looked back at The Prism. Once on his way down to the pier, Solo had turned his head but that had been only to avoid spitting in the wind. Flecks of saliva had been driven against the thick gray walls. Solo seemed unaware of the symbolic gesture. 

“Well, Solo, whaddaya say now?”

Solo barely glanced at the uniformed guard before shrugging his shoulders.

“Never thought you’d hit the bricks, Solo. A con with two life sentences should stick around a while.”

Solo rubbed his hand against the moist canvas-covered bench and sat down, pulling up the short collar of the cheap black suit. He held it snugly against his neck. “Who cares what you think, screw,” he said, staring straight ahead, his opaque lustrous black eyes, darkly brooding, without expression.

“Who do you know, Solo? Who do you know with this kind of suction?”

A smile creased Solo’s mole-dusted, scarred face. After twelve years behind the big walls, it was the only smile Solo had left. 

“You crumb,” the guard said, angered by the defiant silent smile. “You’ll be back. You’re no better than the rest of them crumbs. They all come back. This is home, crumb. This is where you’re gonna die.”

The smile remained, etched in the granite of his waxen face. “Gimme a butt,” he said.

“Me? Give you a butt? Drop dead, crumb.”

Solo shrugged again. The guard continued talking but Solo stopped listening. The engine sputtered a couple times and caught. Solo felt the vibration on the seat of his pants and he stared across the bay, into the dense bank of wet fog shrouding the jagged skyline of Coruscant not more than four miles away. He couldn’t see it but knew it was there. He had studied it with the intensity of an astronomer searching the dark night for a new star, a shimmering dot in a spaceless emptiness. Solo had watched the city grow, one shimmering dot after another, until now he knew that skyline better than the planes of his own face. He knew every dip and rise, every angle and turn, every shadow and reflection for every hour of the day, and every day of the year. The motor launch sped diagonally across the bay, churning the dark water into white foam. Solo stared thoughtfully at the water. A lot of stir-crazy cons had died in this water. They had died trying to swim their way to freedom. Four miles of vicious cross-currents and sharks. None had ever made it. Their mutilated bodies had been washed up against the Prism. Home again. Home to be buried in a sack like garbage.

Solo dug into his pocket and extracted a cigarette without removing the package. Cupping his hands, he leaned forward and lit it. He drew heavily on the butt, the wind showering him with sparks and ashes. He looked down at the speckled black suit without interest. This was the only way to break out of the Prism. With somebody working the angles from the outside. He huddled on the seat. The cigarette glowing before his face, the smile unchanged, the muscles along the ridge of his strong jaw knotted tightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Candyleg:** (n.) A wealthy, older man who supports or contributes to the support of a young woman.
> 
>  **Snow job:** (n.) A misleading story, a pack of lies designed to divert attention from the real situation.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.

Armie Hux spoke lovingly to the red plastic cubes in his clenched fist. “Come on, baby. Be good to papa. Little pair of fours, sweetheart. Little hard eight. Whaddaya say, baby? Let’s roll them for daddy.”

He blew on the dice and tossed them across the bed. He watched them roll, his gray eyes waiting hungrily.

“Bastards,” he cried, glaring at the six ace. “Sonovabitch. What the hell’s wrong with them goddamn dice?” Angrily, he swept them off the bed with a slap of his hand. He stood up and walked to the full-length mirror on the closet door, and slowly examined his expertly tailored Continental styled suit of all black silk mohair.

“Not bad, eh, baby?” he said, turning to the girl on the bed.

She looked at him through a thick cloud of blue smoke, her hazel eyes amused. “You’re beautiful, doll,” she said.

“You think so? I mean, for real?”

“Do I have to draw you a diagram?” she said, uncrossing her long silken legs. 

“Naw, naw,” he said. “No time for that jazz. The big guy should be here any minute now.”

The girl gracefully sat up. “Armie, I don’t want to stay here. Geez, this is silly.”

“No lip,” he said, adjusting his tie. “Listen, the big guy’s been behind the wall twelve years. He needs company real bad. You take care of him, understand? Take care of him real good.”

“But, Armie, it’s nuts.”

“What’s nuts about it?” He stopped admiring himself and turned to face her, his hands on his hips.

“Well, he’s your friend and I’m your girl. It’s wrong.”

“Look, Rey, you’ve got a job to do and you do it. Now you listen to me, baby. This is Armie talking to you. Your old pal Armie. We’ve been together a long time, you and me. And I’ve been real good to you, haven’t I? I fed ya, I took care of ya, gave you everything you wanted, right? Right? Okay, well, I think it’s about time you started paying off. No more lip, understand?” He turned back to the mirror and patted his slick flaming red hair. He spoke over his shoulder. “This is a big deal, sweetheart. We don’t want to screw it up, you hear? You keep your mouth shut and your eyes and ears open. And you do what he wants. I don’t care what the hell it is. You do it.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Anything he wants. After all that time in stir, he’ll probably want—”

“Shaddup,” he said.

“Okay, okay,” she cried, angrily, stubbing the butt in the ashtray on the bed beside her. “But what about you? What are you going to do with all this time I’m with him?”

“Whatever I goddamn please,” he said. “That’s my business. Don't you get confused all of a sudden. I don’t stand for no dame tying me up. I’m my own man. Get it? And don’t get no bright ideas either. You know what you’ve got to do and you do it. And that’s it. I don’t want no more goddamn lip about it. Now get out of those clothes and get between the sheets.” He raised his arm and glanced at his wristwatch.

“Alright,” she said. “But don’t you go twicin’ me.” 

“For the love of Mike,” he said. “Women. You're all alike.” He grinned and walked to the bed. “Come on,” he said. “How about some change?”

She smiled happily and reached out for him. Slowly, he sank to the bed, letting her pull him down. When his mouth smashed against her temple. Hux smiled and ogled her young-girl breasts. The big guy is gonna like this stuff, he thought. Probably dreamt of something like this every night for twelve years. It was just the right touch to soften him up. 

He broke the clinch and automatically straightened his jacket and tie. “Now, baby,” he said. “You you do this job right and you’ll be set for the rest of your life. No bull. This is the big one, baby. Although, I’m warning you, you pay off or you get out! Only kidding. Only kidding.”

“I'll do it right,” she said, her hazel eyes narrowing. “Remember the producer? I made a 9-cushion bank and cleaned up four G’s and he came back for more.” 

Hux grinned crookedly. “Yeah,” he said. “You ain’t enough above the eyes, baby. But you’re sure hell of a lot a woman. A classy dip and burglar with a stroke like Venus de Milo.”

“Men like me okay,” she said. 

“And you don’t miss a trick, do you, kid? So long as it’s a pair of pants with money in the pockets.” He laughed, slapping her thigh. “Like ‘em real bad, heh?”

“I like yours,” she said. “The others I can take or leave it. Don’t make much difference.”

“Now don’t tell me you don’t enjoy it.” 

She gave him a sharp wary look, and slowly crossed her long legs. “You jealous, doll?”

“Me? You've got rocks in your head. I ain’t never been jealous of no dame. And don’t you ever forget it. When your old woman got sent up you blowed into my arms just for protection. I ain’t blind. I ain’t so puffed up over myself to actually believe you’re in love with me.”

She closed her eyes and lazily stretched her arms, her breasts rising until they stood perfectly erect under the white silk blouse. “Baby,” she whispered. “You’re a liar.”

Hux looked down and nervously rubbed his hands together. “Sometimes,” he said, “I get the feeling you’re not half as dumb as you make out to be.”

She laughed softly. “Baby, honey,” she murmured, “Nobody could be half as dumb as you make them out to be.”

“Okay,” he said. “Enough of this bull. You've got a job to do and you do it.”

“How much?” 

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Five points,” he said. 

“Of what?”

He smiled. “Two million bucks.”

She sat straight up, her hazel eyes wide, her red lips oval-shaped. “That’s a hundred grand,” she exclaimed.

“Not a bad pay to lay a guy a few times, heh?” 

She fell back on the bed, her hazel eyes perplexed. “Tell me, Armie. How can he be Han Solo’s son when his name is Ren? I don’t get it.”

Hux smiled understandingly. The sudden switch in interest was nothing unusual for Rey. Most dames would already be spending the loot. Not Rey. Her goddamn mind was like a corn popper. Crazy ideas were always popping out of her head. Except sometimes they weren’t so crazy once you thought about them. At first it had annoyed the hell out of him. But after a while he had gotten used to it. She was the kind of dame who did her thinking out loud. Most of the time she wasn’t really talking — just thinking; blurting out ideas before she even knew what they were herself. It was like she was trying them out for size.

“That’s because he’s known downtown as Kylo Ren,” he said. “His uptown name is only known to a small handful of people in the entire business. It’s complicated. Well, after his old man died Ben took back the Solo name.”

“A Solo likes working alone, don’t they?”

“Not always, baby. Just when trained to hunt and kill. Get it? A professional Pit Bull.” He laughed and stood up. “Not me, baby. I’m different from the old boy. Instead of blowing up banks and chasing around the country in fast cars with the cops on my tail, I sit back and take it easy. I let the banks come to me. See, I’m like a banker in reverse. I don’t pay interest on loot, I collect it.”

“Was your old man a _big_ bank robber?

“Baby,” he said, his arm sweeping majestically before him. “Brendol Hux was the biggest, rivaled only by _the_ Han Solo. He worked with all the big guys. Swift, Cardinal, Rax. And he lasted longer than all of them. The fuzz didn’t tap him till 1939 and then only because some hayseed sheriff got lucky. The old bastard knew his stuff and he was tough. Hell, I could tell you stories. But what the hell for? You wouldn’t understand. And as for the Solos, they blasted their way to the top in the killer kingdom of crime. Benny was number one man on the FBI hit parade at seventeen years old. But that’s cowboy stuff. Look at me, baby. I’m only twenty-seven and I’m already in the big dough and there’s not a lousy scratch on my record. But there’s a difference, see.” He tapped his temple and closed his right eye. “That’s what counts in this business, baby. Brains. Lots of nice little brains.”

She nodded in agreement. “Maybe this won’t be so bad after all,” she said. “He must have lots of interesting things to talk about.”

“That's the ticket. Make him brag about it. Make him feel like a big man. You make it stick, baby, and he’ll walk in that damn casino and take it apart with his bare hands. Believe me, sweetheart, he’s one tough little bastard and don’t you forget it.”

She smiled. “I won’t.”

There was a knock at the bedroom door and Armie Hux moved quickly to answer it, but not quickly enough to prevent Snap from sticking his grinning face through the opening. “They’re on the way up,” he said. “The desk clerk just buzzed me.”

“Okay, Snap. Get back in there and don’t open the door till I get there.” The door closed and he turned to Rey. “This is it, baby. Don’t let me down.” He started to smile but instantly changed it to a hard stare. It was more effective that way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.

The double doors opened and Ben Solo followed Tritt Opan out of the elevator and down the long, carpeted hallway. Except for identifying himself, the cadaverous looking Opan had not spoken a single word all the way from CoCo Town to this second-rate hotel in the Uscru District. This was just fine with Solo. Solo had briefly glanced up at the hotel, his mind nimbly juggling this dot in the proper place in the skyline etched in his memory. This part of the skyline hadn’t changed much in the past decade. This dot had been with him a long, long time. Opan stopped before 711 and rapped sharply. There was a brief pause and then the door flew open. Armie Hux stood in the open doorway, his arms outstretched, a big smile on his handsome smug face.

“Hey, pal, what do you say now?”

Solo deftly avoided the wide encompassing arms as he entered the room. The smile on Hux’s beaming face fluttered and nearly died, but it was then revived when Solo accepted the proffered handclasp.

A muscle twitched along Solo’s rugged jawline and his dark eyes narrowed and hardened. “Cut the pal crap,” he said sharply. “I’m Ben to you and Solo to these other goons.”

Hux struggled valiantly to retain the smile but it had begun to freeze along the edges. “Sure, Ben, okay. I just thought, you know, with us going all the way back like marbles and short pants and all, that maybe I should call you pal. That’s all. Hell, I didn’t mean nothing by it.”

“Sure,” Solo said. “I know.” He turned away, his glance sweeping across the room taking in the dismal furnishings and faded wallpaper. “What kind of joint is this?” he said, turning back to look at his old associate.

“It’s not the Ritz but it’s clean,” Hux said.

“It’s a dump,” Solo said.

“Well, we thought it best to keep out of sight for a while. At least until the job is over.”

“We? Who’s we?”

Hux moved swiftly towards the bottle of liquor on the small writing desk across the room. “Hey, how about a drink?”

“Never mind that,” Solo said. “Who’s we?”

Hux poured himself a stiff shot and nervously tossed it down before answering. “Well, you know, me and Tritt and Snap here.”

Solo’s dark brooding eyes studied Snap’s parted bulletproof haircut and incredibly thick bull neck. Snap was about average height, perhaps a couple of inches shorter than Solo, but the enormous weight he packed on that wide frame was enough to make two Solos with plenty left over to make a Mr. Atlas out of the emaciated Tritt Opan. Solo nodded and extracted a cigarette from his pocket. “I see. These two gentlemen are your business associates. They have a say in the matter at hand.”

“Wait a minute,” Hux said. “I didn’t say that. They're my boys. They work for me. That's all. Period.”

“So? What’s the crap?”

“Well, we just talked it over. That's all.”

Solo nodded again and sat on the fat arm of the only upholstered chair. “Next time talk to me about it. I’ll tell you what I like.”

“Sure, Ben. Anything you say. Now how about getting down to business. I’ve got to catch a plane this afternoon.”

Solo dragged on the cigarette, letting the smoke curl before his face, his eyes narrowed in a concentration.

“Lay it out,” he said.

Armie Hux poured himself another shot. “You sure you don’t want one, Ben? After all those years, the stuff should taste pretty good.”

“I was in the Prism,” Solo said. “Not a monastery. The last drink I had was last night.”

Hux’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know that. How did you get the stuff in?”

“My God,” Solo said. “For a guy in the rackets you don’t know much. We’ve got everything in stir. Booze, dope, rackets. Everything but women.”

“That must be tough. I mean having no dames around.”

“It’s tough. Period.”

“I’d go nuts,” Hux said, glancing towards the closed bedroom door. 

“You wouldn’t be alone.”

Snap giggled. “Lots of other things, though, heh?”

“Lots of everything but women,” Solo said.

Hux brought the drink, a tall one this time, to the sofa and stretched out. “Well, pal, I mean, Ben, here’s the way it lays.” He reached into his inside jacket pocket and handed Solo a folded piece of paper. “That’s the physical layout of the joint. You study that carefully and you’ll know everything about it.”

Solo opened the paper and stared at the crude drawing. He looked up at Hux, the paper dropping from his fingers. “Can’t use it,” he said. “It’s worthless.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Everything’s wrong with it. I want a detailed plan. I want it scaled down to the exact dimension. I don’t want any lousy guesswork. I’ve got to know every foot of space in this joint and where it is. This is a big operation and it’s got to be handled professionally. I’ve never been to Canto Bight, but from what I hear those punks are sharp. They’ve got all the angles covered.”

“Ah, they’re not so sharp,” Hux said.

“Sharp enough. Maybe, too sharp. I don’t know yet. I’ll have to case it first. Then I’ll tell you.”

“Hey, wait a minute. You’re not thinking of backing out, are you? Not after all the loot I spent springing you from stir?”

“I’m not backing out and I am not backing in, either. I said I’d look it over. That’s it. Take it or leave it.”

“Now, wait. Wait a minute. Let’s take it slow, okay? Remember, there’s going to be close to two million bucks in that vault.”

“So you say.”

“I don’t just say. It’s true. Listen, the Canto Casino starts out the day with a cool half million bucks. That’s every day. Now the way we had it figured, the Labor Day weekend will mean three days without bank deposit, and it’s one of the biggest weekends of the year. Believe me, they’ll be two million clams in that vault and plenty more.”

“It’s still in the vault,” Solo said. “Telling me doesn’t get it out of there. What’s the gimmick?”

Hux gently ran his hand over his slick hair. “That’s your department. I’ll get you the detailed layout and furnish the boys and the operation loop. The rest is up to you. Fair enough?”

“I’ll take the layout and the loop. The boys you can keep.”

“Look, wait, I was gonna give you Snap and Opan. And a half dozen other guys if you need them.”

“Keep ‘em. I’ll get my own men. I know where to get them.”

“But these boys are good.”

Solo stood up and slowly approached Snap.

“You mean tough,” he said.

“You damn right,” Hux said. “They don’t come no tougher than Snap.”

“I think he’s a runt,” Solo said, his arms casually resting at his side, his head cocked slightly to the right. The smile was back on his face. “Right, runt?”

“Don’t bug me,” Snap said. “I don’t care if Han Solo was your old man. Nobody calls me a runt, see?”

“I called you a runt, runt. So do something.”

Snap’s bull neck swelled and his fat face turned a scarlet red. His eyes shifted pleadingly to Hux, begging for approval.

“Tell him it’s okay,” Solo said. “Tell the bastard to make a move.”

“Hey, come on, Ben,” Hux called. “What’s to prove.”

“Tell him,” Solo said, a strange harshness in his voice that suddenly drained the angry flush from Snap’s face. 

Hux gave a nervous laugh. “Okay, pal, it’s your funeral. Go ahead, Snap, take him, but go slow. We need him at all in one piece.”

If it had been left up to Snap he might never have made the move. First it had been the voice, like a carborundum grindstone biting into a piece of tempered steel. And then the eyes. The black brooding eyes that seemed to reach out and clutch his insides with a cold clammy hand. Snap wanted to say something but he felt all tightened up. Suddenly, he knew he was going to get it, and it was going to be bad. Like it had been when he was a kid and that Surat Nuat had beaten his brains out in front of the whole gang. He had been small then. Not a big and strong like now. It was crazy. This fugitive from a junior prom in front of him couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and ninety-five. He had broken guys like that in two with one lousy blow. The guy had to be crowding thirty, though didn’t look it. Not even when you looked up close like this. He didn’t look no more than ten or twelve or something like that. Certainly, not old enough to be Solo’s kid. Hell, he didn’t even have a gray hair in his head. Not even at the temples. If it hadn’t been for them fishy eyes he could have passed for twenty-five even. But those eyes, they were old. They were the eyes of a guy who had done everything twice and then some. They were the eyes of a killer. Like Opan’s eyes had been that night he killed those two gunsels with a kitchen knife without even saying a word. Just wham, wham, and Opan sat back down and finished his cup of coffee. Snap wanted to look down at Solo’s hands, to see if he was holding a shiv, but he couldn’t even move his eyeballs. It was like being paralyzed from head to toe. 

The second it happened, Snap was glad. Anything was better than standing there thinking about it. Two seconds later he was so glad. The first thing he felt was a sharp blow against his Adam’s apple. His head flew back, his mouth twisting and sucking air, his arms automatically reaching out for Solo. But Solo wasn’t there. The next blow was an excruciating smack in the middle. Snap squealed shrilly, doubling over, his hands wildly clutching his front. A moment later, Snap thought the roof had collapsed on the back of his neck. His head seemed to explode. Lights flashed before his dazed eyes as he slowly sank to the floor in total darkness.

“Now I’ll have that drink,” Solo said, turning to appraise the stunned expression on his associate’s face. From the corner of his eye, he caught Opan’s quick movement. “Don’t do it, sucker,” he said, moving casually towards the bottle of Scotch on the small desk. “Or I’ll have to make you eat it, bullets and all.”

Hux glared sharply at Opan. “What were you trying to do? Kill him?”

Solo poured himself a double shot and turned, the small smile still on his face. “No,” he said simply. “If I had wanted to kill him I would have.” He lifted the glass and sipped the drink like a connoisseur sampling a rare wine.

“But why?” Hux demanded. “What’s the percentage?”

Solo studied his associate’s handsome face, his brooding gaze faintly displeased at what he saw. “I wanted to. Good enough?”

“I don’t get it.”

Solo sipped the drink again. “There’s only three things I want today,” he said. “A fight, a drink and a—”

“Woman?”

“A _bed._ I’ve got the first two. Now I’ll go find myself the third.”

“Okay,” Hux said. “I get it. But first let’s get this deal straightened out.”

“It’s already straightened out,” Solo said. “I need about twenty grand to set it up.”

“Hey, ain’t that kind of steep?”

Solo scratched his chin. “It’s dirt cheap. Less than one-percent of the haul of which you get an even split.”

“Yeah, sure, but remember I just spent sixty G’s springing you. That was a big deal, don’t forget it.”

Solo crossed the room and dropped in the large chair. “Tell me about it,” he said, the peculiar little smile pulling out the corners of his strong mouth.

“Well, it just so happens that I know a guy who had an in with somebody on the Adult Authority. Remember, you had two life sentences hanging over your head. That ain’t exactly a two-bit haul.” 

“I don’t know,” Solo said. “I’ve seen worse.”

“How many of them get out though?”

“Most of them,” he said. “A life term is seven and a half years if they want to release you. It’s all up to the parole board. They got the full say on the matter. It don’t matter how many life sentences a man’s got tied around his neck. If they like you or you can grease the right palm, you hit the bricks quick enough.”

“They didn’t like you, I guess,” Hux said. “But I fixed it up. So now do something for me.”

“Don’t quibble,” Solo said. “I want twenty grand and that’s it.”

“Goddamn, you’re a hard man to deal with.”

“Mail the plan to Lando Calrissian. The general delivery, Canto Bight. I want it within three days. Today’s the twenty-third. We have less than two weeks to Labor Day.”

“Don’t I know it,” Hux said. “Got anything in mind yet?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, for Pete’s sake, how about thinking about it?”

Solo held out his hand. “Grease it,” he said. “Then I’ll start thinking.”

Hux reached behind the sofa and brought up a pigskin briefcase. Solo watched him closely as he fumbled inside the bag. Finally, after what seemed an endless search, he came out with two fat stacks of bills. He handed them to Solo and stood up. “I wish I could do more personally,” he said. “But you know I can’t show my face in Canto Bight. They’d make me in a flash. I’ve had a little trouble there before. Nothing serious, though, but they know me.”

“Let’s not kid each other,” Solo said. “You don’t have the guts it takes for this kind of operation. All you big racket guys are the same. And that goes for Hutt, too. Without his troops, he was nothing.”

Hux’s eyes lighted up. “That’s right. Jabba was in the Ghost Prison with you.”

“He was.”

“What kind of guy was he?”

“He was a fink.”

“Come on, what are you, nuts? Hutt a fink?”

Solo shook his head. “You asked me, I told you.”

“Hutt was a big man. Hell, the biggest.”

“Go join a debating society,” Solo said. “I’ve got things to do.”

Hux shrugged. “Okay, Ben.” He turned to Opan. “Get Snap back to the car.”

Opan’s eyebrows moved imperceptibly as he looked at the monstrous hulk sprawled across the floor. But that was all. The next moment he was moving across the room as lightly as a cat on the kill.

“He’s going to be out for a little while,” Solo said.

“I don’t doubt it,” Hux said, watching as Opan raised the head from the floor.

“Douse him with water, Tritt.”

Opan nodded and turned towards the bathroom. Hux leaned over Solo’s chair and winked slyly. “Ben, I’ve got a little surprise waiting for you in the bedroom. Why don’t you go in and see? We’ll take care of Snap and be gone in no time.”

“Number three?”

Hux laughed. “Goddamn, there’s no fooling you is there? Well, look, good luck on the operation. I’ll be in Corellia, you know where to reach me. Anything else I can do just let me know. And take it easy. No cowboy stuff.”

Solo stared at his associate a long time before answering. “Same old Hux. Timeproof, weatherproof,” he said. “A hundred percent.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.

Rey lay between the sheets, her large hazel eyes fixed on the ceiling. Her shoulder-length brunette hair, which she usually wore in a high ponytail, had been combed out and arranged so that it circled her head like cascaded caramel. The pink lipstick matched the pink nailpolish of her fingers and toes. She was in every sense of the word ready for the challenge ahead. At nineteen, she was at the vertex of her beauty. She had a clear spotless complexion and healthy vibrant flesh, when rubbed vigorously with a Turkish towel, turned glowing pink. Her figure was in the beauty queen category, lush and full-bodied, with just a little muscle around the breasts because of their exercise routine. This she didn’t mind. She was terribly fond of her remarkable bosom and wore the kind of décolletage that showed as much of the creamy flesh that the law allowed in public places. At private parties, especially in Chandrila, she was always the first one to fall into the swimming pool. She had known a number of girls who made it out big that way, but with her somehow it had always ended up in a brush. No one had ever taken her seriously, not for long anyway. Not even Armie Hux with his smooth talk and easy promises. She was just a piece. That’s all she had ever been. A gun-shy and lonely virgin piece. Except for a few light pecks (and he never crossed any line with her), Hux was always on the run and he had other girls, but what good would that do her when she got old, say ten years from now? It was okay to live it up and all that, but the future was there, waiting for you all the time. If a girl wasn’t careful she’d end up with round heels on skidrow someplace. And that, to Rey, was a fate worse than death. The speculation wasn’t entirely academic. Rey knew more about skidrow and round heels than she cared to remember. Hadn’t she spent the worst four years of her life in a trap above a B-joint? And hadn’t she seen her own mother drag in an endless chain of drunken bums in the middle of the night? Four long years of it, from the age of twelve to sixteen. Then the fuzz had broken down the door one night and caught the old woman in bed stinking drunk. That had been the end of it and Rey had been glad, glad even when they shipped her to one of those correctional schools just like she had been part of the deal. The old woman pulled the dutch act in stir and Rey never shed a tear. It was good riddance for all she cared. Now she had no one and nothing except her good looks. And she would spoil them if she didn’t watch herself and play it cool. Real cool. What she needed was a man who would stick and take care of her in her old age. Something like love, you know. Something that made people stick together without wanting to kill each other after a while. If she could get that then everything would be okay. Her worries would be over. Maybe if she did a good job for Hux like he wanted her to, then maybe he would really take care of her like he promised. Of course, you never could tell with Armie. He was such a liar. Even so, she didn’t care, or at least she wouldn’t care if he was hers. As long as she could have somebody, somebody that would stick and take care of her, she didn’t care anything about what they were like and all that jazz. People were people, and who was perfect anyhow? Sure Armie was a hoodlum like the newspapers said, but he was okay when he wanted to be, and nice and tender, like when after they did a job and he just lay on his back, smoking and talking about his mother in that sweet, tender voice, like, you know, she was a saint or something equally precious. Hux had a heart. Nobody could love his mother like that without having a heart. Maybe if she had a mother like Hux’s, she could have loved her. And maybe that would have made a lot of difference in her feelings about people and things like that. Loving someone even though they were dead made you a nicer person. It gave you a warm feeling inside. At least, it couldn’t hurt you or anything. Love was a funny thing. She wished she knew more about it, they talked about it a lot in the movies and songs and things like that. It sounded real nice. Like, you know, it made you flip and everything was cool and you didn’t care about nothing else. It was all mixed up with Spring and the birds-and-the-bees and crazy jazz like that. Everybody seemed to go for it real wild. Only thing was, she didn’t understand it. It had to be something you felt inside. Maybe it was your heart like they said in those songs. It sure was a nutty thing, alright. She sure wished she knew what the hell that was all about.

When the bedroom door opened, Rey was still thinking about the phenomenon called love. She turned her head, careful not to disturb the meticulously arranged caramel hair, and fastened her large limpid eyes on Ben Solo’s waxen smooth face. Automatically, the small muscles behind the flesh of her face began working, twisting and turning the lovely features into a coy seductive smile.

“Well, hello, there, good-looking. Come here and take a load off.”

Ben Solo reached back without turning and carefully locked the door. “What’s your name?” he said, approaching the bed.

“Rey, and you’re Ben Solo, the big bank robber. Top man.”

Solo was trying to decide if he should shake this starry-eyed doll. The kid must have caught the change in his expression. She lost her smile. He couldn’t figure it out. Why a girl in the gang? He tried to play it straight. Didn’t they give girls names like Mary, Ann or Elizabeth anymore? This kid couldn’t have been much over twenty. He glanced out of the corner of his eye. Long brown hair like a mermaid’s, he guessed you’d call it. Smooth olive skin. Hazel eyes. A shape to knock you down. She passed from all angles. But this kid was too young to be a bank robber. What the hell was Hux trying to pull? Throwing him in with a bunch of amateurs! And a woman at that! Even guys like Hux ought to know better. The more he thought about it, the more he burned.

“Gee — you look just like the picture I have of you.”

“Is that so?”

“Why, I’ve been readin’ about ya since I was a kid, always hopin’ I could join up with ya. I hung your picture next to Maynard Ferguson, in my room.”

“Well, I’m in good company.”

“I saw you a couple times. Once on the T.V. in a department store window.”

“You must have been pretty young.”

“I was a freshman in high school. I got close enough to watch you and finally got to see all your beauty marks.”

Solo sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at her, his brooding eyes mildly interested. “Not bad,” he said. “Maybe Hux’s got taste. At least that’s something.”

“Like what you see?”

Solo pinched the top of the sheet between thumb and index finger and slowly pulled it back, an inch at a time, his face expressionless, like a stud player afraid to look at his hole card. He stopped just past the initial rise of her pointed breasts. Still holding the sheet, he touched her with his small finger. “Like satin,” he said softly.

The long finger on the flesh sent chills down Rey’s spine. Her leg muscles tightened and she stretched them out as far as she could.

“You’re not looking at all,” she said, nervously wondering what he’d do next. “In fact, you’re pretty cute. Like, you know, Humphrey Bogart or something. I always liked him. He was old, you know, but you knew he was all there and could take care of you real cozy like if he wanted to. Know what I mean?”

Solo didn’t answer her. Instead he was slowly pulling the sheet across her left breast, his eyes intent.

“Don’t be bashful,” she said. “If you want, go ahead.” Solo unveiled the right breast. _What's this bit?_ Rey wondered. _Must have the damn thing wired or something._ She felt like giggling. It was odd. Made her feel all mushy inside. _This was a real weirdo, man. But cute. Real cute._

With both breasts exposed, Solo stared down at them with the concentration of an artist about to create a masterpiece. A small smile seemed to pull at the stiff corners of his mouth. When he looked up there was a glint in his eyes which gave an amazingly youthful appearance to his angular patrician face.

“I hope you don’t mind my doodling a bit. I’ve never done this before…”

Rey shook her head. “Course not. Go ahead.”

“How about a drink?”

“Sure. There's a bottle in the top bureau drawer. Kinda warm.”

“It’s okay. How about you?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Fine. I’ll fix us a couple.”

She nodded. What had happened to her? She didn’t know what to say to the man. She felt like a dope or something. She was acting like a silly schoolgirl. Maybe it was a combination of nerves and conscience — and an emotional something else. Shock, sort of, reaction. After all, it’s a big event in a girl’s life to be intimate with a man for the first time, especially if she isn’t married to him. She guessed she had the shakes, but after she rested and ate, she’d realize what a fool she’d been to act the way she was. He was pretty nice, though. Not like she had supposed after what Hux had told her about him. God, she didn’t know what she expected. Somebody with a long gray beard or something. Some old geezer all shriveled up and out of gas. A disfigured monster. He was okay. Maybe it was gonna be fun after all. If he didn’t get all boozed up and sloppy. That was something she couldn’t stand. No drunk was going to slop over her. That was for certain. 

Solo brought a bottle of Whyren’s Reserve and two glasses to the bed and sat down. “No sense in rushing it,” he said. “Good things should be done slow and easy. That way you know what you’re doing when you’re doing it.”

She nodded again. “Yeah, that makes sense, okay.” 

He poured two drinks and placed a bottle on the floor. She reached up to take the glass without raising her head.

“Come on, sit up,” he said.

She glanced up at the exposed breasts, wondering if they’d jiggle and quickly shook her head. “I’m okay.”

“Suit yourself. Well, here’s to us.”

“Ditto.”

She raised her head slightly and sipped some of the warm bourbon. It was like sticking a finger down her throat. Her stomach did a flip-flop and she had to close her eyes to stop from retching.

“Want some water?”

“No, thanks, it’s fine.” 

He took a deep swallow and smiled at the glass. “God, it’s good.” He looked around the drab room and then at her, at her beautiful breasts and caramel hair. “It’s like a stir-crazy dream.”

“Geez, that must be awful. I mean all that time without ever being with a woman and all. A guy could get real lonesome.”

“Look at me,” he said. “Take a good look.”

She peered at him, her large hazel eyes searching his face for a secret message. “You look okay.”

“Know why?”

“No.”

“I did it on my ear. That’s why. I’ve seen cons get old in two lousy years. Two years of hard time. With me it was like water off a duck’s back. I had those screws eating out of my hand. I’m the kind of guy who can adjust to his environment no matter what the hell it is. You've got to be flexible otherwise you’re dead.”

“Yeah, I believe you. It must be tough, though, just the same.”

“Sure it’s tough. You've got to be tougher, that’s all.”

“I admire you,” she said, inordinately pleased with herself for thinking of such a nice thing to say.

“Well, well,” Solo said, that glint in his eyes again. “You and I are going to get along just fine, Rey.” 

“Geez, I hope so, Ben.” She raised the glass and closed her eyes. It wasn’t as bad this time. It burned a little bit and then it was fine. Sort of mellow with a zing. 

Solo turned and slowly touched her breast. This time with the palm of his hand.

Rey felt her body tightening as before and closed her eyes. Her nipples puckered with sharp tingles that raced to her sex, and it startled her.

Now the hand was moving down and she knew the sheet was going down right along with it. She felt something touch her soft flat belly. 

And then it happened. Suddenly like an explosion.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.

It took two days for Solo to return to normal. Two days and two nights. For Rey it was a new and startling adventure beyond the scope of all past experience, or lack thereof. Her first reaction had been one of amusement: so that was what a man was like after they threw him away at seventeen without ever being with a woman. Soon the reaction had turned into one of surprise. And then by the end of the second it wasn’t surprise as much as respect. This was no ordinary man. Forget the twelve years in stir and all that jazz. This man was something special. Something unheard of in the annals of science or love or whatever they called it. She felt complete, a whole woman for the first time in her life.

For Solo it had also been incredible. A revelation. Better than he had dared hope. It had blown off the lid and released the pent-up pressures that he hadn’t known been simmering for years. He had felt relaxed and contented as a fat man after a ten-course dinner concocted by the world’s finest chef. When he’d first entered the room he was going to tell her to flap her heels so that he could consort with old Morpheus. But then he saw the girl with the green eyes. _“Rey,”_ she had told him in that British accent. She was a sweet romantic kid and she’d had a little drink. He’d kissed her and she’d clung tightly. He hadn’t meant to go further with it, but after all he was human and she was a very sweet-looking girl and old Mother Nature was taking over for the both of them. He’d kissed her again and he had felt a surge of passion inside of him and he’d had just enough to drink to forget principles, morals, conscience. He’d pressed his mouth to hers again and she had relaxed against him. Her lips were moist and wet and the pupils of her eyes were enlarged. His hands had trembled like those of a small boy taking the fancy wrapping off a birthday present. She had made little motions with her hands trying to slow him but she didn’t really want him to ever slow down. As she was lying there, limp, wide-eyed and waiting, he had hoped he was the first. But inside, he knew he was. What was he made of — glass?! This girl you couldn’t fool around with! This kind you had to marry! Well, he wasn’t getting married till he was too old to do anything else! And if she couldn’t read or write, that was fine! Because he wasn’t going to wind up at concerts and lectures! He wasn’t going to wind up like his old man — a dead mug! Not him! Not this boy! He was putting it on the line, him or her. He chose Ben Solo. Unless she quit him first. Men were all alike, married or single. It was _their_ game. Rey just happened to be smart enough to play it their way. Well, that’d make it easier on everybody. Would she be upset? She wouldn't be laughing. She’d be better off. He wasn’t the man for her. She didn’t meet the right element. I never wanted her! Then he ought to be satisfied. I _am_ satisfied. He lay there, plainly dissatisfied. The empty room with them — side by side in separate thoughts, Solo sunk in gloom. The dame was a handful but the south view of her from the east when she was walkin’ north would make a blind man turn to liquor and she was damned willing. And that was all a man could ask for. In fact, she was so damned willing he had decided to take her along with him on the job. Hell, she would be just the decoy he needed to case the joint. With her on his arm he could move about as he damned well pleased without arousing suspicion.

Between the lovemaking, they ate and smoked and drank, filling in the voids with idle chatter. Rey talked about the Chandrila parties she had attended and the kind of creeps she had a met along the boulevard. Solo listened, smiling faintly at times, his eyes seldom leaving the lovely warm flesh of her body. Rey was pleased by his quiet acceptance of her and her world. And gave her a feeling of importance. Her life hadn’t been such a waste after all. He was a man who truly enjoyed listening to her. He appreciated her not only as a piece but as a person. He was a new and marvelous and exciting experience. Soon the floodgates burst wide open and the darkest secrets of her life were revealed in all their naked impotence.

“I’m awful,” she had said at one point. “Geez, I don’t know why I’m telling you all these terrible things about myself.”

“What makes you think they’re terrible?”

“I don’t know. They just don’t seem so awful when I’m doing them. It’s just when I think about it later, you know. Or talk about it now. Well, actually, I never talk about these things. Geez, I don’t know why I’m talking about them now. Maybe, you should be a headshrinker or something. It’s easy to talk to you. I don’t have to do anything. It just seems to come out without my trying.”

“I know a lot about headshrinkers,” Solo said. “The Prism is crawling with them. They’re a bunch of nuts.”

“You don’t believe in headshrinkers?”

“Believe in them? What is it, a religion?”

“Well, no, but they’re supposed to cure crazy people.”

“Just a lot of fancy words,” Solo said. “Hell, they can’t even cure themselves. They’ve got all the cons talking like them. Some of them cons don’t have two years of schooling and they go around talking about inhibitions, repressions and adjustments. They parrot the words but they’re still the same crazy bastards they always were.”

“You think that’s something, you ought to go to one of those Chandrila parties. Everybody there goes to a headshrinker. It’s like a fad, you know. It makes you important like owning a Kalevalan or something. I always thought I’d like to go to one just to see what he’d say. Boy, I bet he’d flip, heh?”

Solo lit a cigarette and handed it to her, lighting another one for himself.

“I like that,” she said. “Reminds me of a movie I saw once with Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart. He always lighted her cigarette and it looked real sexy. Did I tell you that you remind me of Humphrey Bogart? Well, you do, a lot.”

“Want to come to Canto Bight with me?”

“Sure, why not?”

“It might get rough.”

“I know,” she said, winking at him. “Hux told me all about it.”

Solo turned on his side, propping his head on his hand, the cigarette dangling from his lips. “What exactly did Hux tell you?”

“He told me about the caper, you know, heisting the Canto Casino.”

Solo stared at her a long time through the spiral of smoke moving before his eyes. “Is there anybody that don’t know about this caper?” he said.

“Nobody knows about it except myself and Hux and Snap and Opan. That’s all.”

“That’s about four too many,” Solo said.

“Nobody’s gonna talk.”

“Maybe no and maybe yes. One leak and you’re dead on this kind of caper.”

“Don’t worry about it. Opan and Snap won’t talk. They’re in on it.”

“Sure,” Solo said. “Sure they are.”

“And look, Hux wouldn’t tell nobody that couldn’t be trusted.”

“How long have you known Hux?”

“Oh, a long time.”

“How long is a long time to you?”

“Well, let’s see,” she frowned, puckering her lips in a way that made Solo want to catch the lower one with his teeth and rolling her eyes. “At least six months.”

“That’s a long time, alright.”

“Sure, that’s a real long time. I usually don’t stick. You know, I just can’t keep nobody. They always get mad or tired and walk out, leaving me high and dry.”

Solo watched her. In the darkness, Rey looked back to Solo, saw that he was looking at her, really looking at her. She averted, looked down. He raised her chin. Eyes locked. A tender kiss in the darkness of the room.

“Okay,” Solo said. “You come with me and I’ll see that you’re taken care of when the split’s made.”

“Geez, thanks. How much am I gonna get?”

Solo reached over and stroked her breast. “Enough, Little Bit,” he said. “Enough to make it all worthwhile.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.

As the Mafia’s West Coast coordinator, Don Adelmo Salvatore (Dell) Snoke controlled every important racket in the six western states with headquarters in Corellia. Don Snoke was a _capo mafioso_ of rapidly rising stature and a potential candidate for a membership to the grand council of the First Order. At forty-three he was considered extremely young for a post of such momentous magnitude, especially since he was not related by birth or marriage to any of the top leaders of the First Order. Snoke was inordinately proud of this fact. What he had achieved was due to his own enterprise and ability. He had no one to thank but himself. Don Snoke was a self-made man in the first American tradition of rugged individualism. He had been born in the slums of New Alderaan’s Outer Rim at a time when most of the present leaders were already establishing themselves and their rackets. Bane, Tenebrous, Plagueis, Sidious, Vader, all the big boys who still controlled organized crime. Don Snoke’s sponsor had been none other than Don Sidious, the old Sith, Inc. boss and head of the Naboo waterfront mob. Big Sid — and they called him that because his ideas were big and one day he got a really big idea that was his last — had taught him all he knew. Everything from extortion to dope and from mayhem to murder. Big Sid had known it all and little Snoke had been a most precious student. Nothing had been wasted or forgotten. During the Forties, at the time of the Sith, Inc. investigation and trials, Big Sid had lammed and Snoke had gone to work for Big Sid’s boss, Joey Plagueis. Plagueis had also found him an apt student and had done his best to further his education. When Big Sid returned after the War (having served a hitch in the Army) Snoke went back to work for him, but by this time he knew all the top men of the organization, and quite often addressed them by their first name. The shift to Corellia occurred just six months before Don Sidious’ untimely demise in an Ahch-to barbershop. Don Snoke flew to New Alderaan for the funeral, not so much out of sentimentality for the dearly departed tutor but more precisely to feel the pulse of the powers that be. It was quite obvious to Don Snoke that the rubout had been ordered by somebody operating at the very top level. And the most important thing now for Snoke was to assure whoever that somebody happened to be that he had his approval and loyalty. At a meet in a plush Coreward hotel, Don Snoke’s worries were put to rest. The First Order was very pleased with his efforts on the West Coast and hoped that he would continue producing as efficiently in the future as he had in the past. A few sympathetic sighs were noted when Don Sidious’ name was pronounced but that was all and nothing more was said concerning this dead issue.

Back in Corellia, Don Snoke doubled his efforts. He persuaded another hundred and twenty-five bookies to take the First Order’s wire service and initiated a new protection racket fashioned after the mob’s organization in Hosnia and Little Italy. He moved fifty men into the Port of Corellia to organize the Longshoreman along the lines of Naboo waterfront. Some of his hoodlums infiltrated a score of powerful unions and started cracking down on management, extorting high sums at the threat of paralyzing strikes. Heroin and marijuana, smuggled in from Mexico was tightly organized and placed in the hands of Don Snoke’s number one man, Edrison Peavey, a pockmarked, thick-lipped hoodlum who specialized in narcotics for over thirty years. Prostitution was extended to all Western states and rotation tie-in was established with the Midwest mobs of Nal Hutta, Leritor, Kashyyk and Kaddak.

By the summer of 1958, Don Snoke had the organization running as — to quote one of his favorite expressions — “smooth as silk.” This gave him the opportunity to sit back and look around a bit. Everything he had done, he realized, was for the First Order. Nothing for himself. That is nothing that could be personal. He ran rackets, took his cut, and shipped the largest percentage of it to New Alderaan for the big boys to divvy up among themselves. This was okay up to a point. And the point, the way Don Snoke saw it at that moment, had been reached. Now it was time for him to grab something of his own. Something that would be his alone and no one else’s. Something he could do with as he damned pleased without the First Order breathing down his neck all the time like he was some lousy flunky. He realized, of course, that all of the _capo mafiosi_ , no matter how great the rank, had to contribute to the national coffer. That was the very backbone of the First Order’s strength. The countless millions brought absolute power. The dicta of the grand council had become the law of the First Order. No one defied it. No one, that is, who enjoyed the simple pleasure of inhaling and exhaling.

Don Snoke enjoyed breathing as much as anybody — if not a great deal more. And he understood the machinations of the First Order as well as anybody. Defiance was the farthest thing from his mind when he thought of buying into the Canto in Canto Bight. The hotel-casino, after all, what is operated by a bunch of Jews who had nothing to do with the First Order, much less the Mafia — which restricted its membership to Sicilians and a few carefully chosen Italians. The way Don Snoke saw it there was nothing wrong with a guy investing his own money in a business venture. And certainly there couldn’t be anything wrong for him to reap the profits from such a venture. The only problem was the Jews didn’t want to sell. Now, of course, it would have been wrong for Don Snoke to use the First Order’s muscle to achieve his own personal end. No one in New Alderaan or Nal Hutta would have objected as long as they got their cut in such a deal. But then it wouldn’t have been Don Snoke’s personal property. No. What Don Snoke needed was a gimmick. Something that would force the Jews to sell out to him without any noticeable pressure from his organization.

Armie Hux had furnished him with that gimmick. Hux had been on general assignment with Don Snoke since the Mafia boss had first arrived in Corellia. He had been recruited from Nal Hutta where he had operated as a bookie and pimp on the Jiguuna. His future now hung in the balance. If his gimmick worked, he was sure to be appointed to Don Snoke’s staff of the lieutenants. If it failed he would be in a precarious position. Anything could happen.

Armie Hux was all smiles and confidence when he faced Don Snoke on his arrival from Coruscant. The two men sat alone in Don Snoke’s soundproof den, discussing the details of the operation.

“He really went for it, eh?” Don Snoke said. 

“Hook, line and sinker,” Hux said.

“Great, great,” Don Snoke said, beaming at Hux across a wide black walnut desk. Don Snoke was a large man with a large head thickly decorated with wiry silver curls. His eyes were a pale blue, deep-socketed, cold and hard even when he laughed. His nose was thin and his lips were thin and in between the nose and the lips he sported a thin mustache. These delicate features were encased in a huge square face, topped by a broad Neanderthal brow and capped by a giant chin. His only faintly attractive feature was a set of perfectly spaced dazzling white teeth. Unfortunately the credit belonged to a Bespin dental artist who had spent an entire year redecorating the mobster’s mouth. Naturally, Don Snoke was not aware of his conflicting features. He presumed himself fatally irresistible and an insatiable lover. He just didn’t buy the thought of marriage and never gave any dame any false notions. His Sullust Strip penthouse looked like a harem of some Eastern potentate. Around the clock the place teamed with girls; blonde, brunette and redhead, all young, all shapely, and all out to make a fast buck. Don Snoke was an insecure extrovert and needed the fawning attention of people, male or female, every minute of his waking hours.

“Believe me, Mr. Snoke, if anybody can crack that joint, the prince is the boy to do it. He’s a real tough sonovabitch.”

“Yeah, so I’ve been reading. I’ve got somebody to check the old newspaper files for me. He was alright. Can he time it for Labor Day weekend?”

“That’s the plan.”

“He don’t suspect nothing?”

“Not a thing. As far as he knows, it’s just between the two of us. I furnish the dough and he does the work and we split right down the middle.”

Snoke nodded his large head, his cold lifeless blue eyes thoughtful. “This thing has got to work,” he said. “I want a piece of that joint bad.”

“It will work.”

“How’s he gonna do it?”

Hux shook his head. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t tell me a damn thing. But I left Rey, my bagman, there with him and she’ll get in touch the minute she hears something.”

“I want the whole plan.”

“Well I don’t know about that. Might be tough to get.”

“Tough? He’s your old friend, ain’t he? What the hell. Talk to him.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Well, now, let me tell you something. I want details, understand? I want to know exactly how he’s gonna do it and when, the exact minute. Then I want to know where he’s gonna take all that loot.”

Hux nodded. “I’ll try.”

Don Snoke slammed the desk with his fist. “You’ll get it. For God’s sake, are you deaf or something? I want to know.”

“Sure, sure, Mr. Snoke.”

“Sure, sure, Mr. Snoke,” Snoke mimicked. “What kind of lousy answer is that? Talk to me like a man, goddamnit.”

Armie Hux pulled nervously at his tie, his bright eyes wide and anxious. “Look, I’m sorry. I mean I’ll get the complete plan for you. I promise you.”

“Okay, that’s better. Now, remember, I’ve got your word on that, man to man. Don’t go back on it, understand? I don’t like welchers.”

“No, sir. I’ll get it for you.”

Don Snoke smiled, disclosing the entire dental package. “That’s my boy. I knew I could count on you.”

He stood up to indicate the meeting was adjourned. “Keep me posted. This project has my full attention. It’s important to me. Remember that.” He held out his hand and gave Hux a firm handclasp. “Keep it quiet. This is strictly hush-hush.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Fine, fine. Well, good luck. And I mean that a thousand percent.”

“Thank you.”

“Be seeing you, kid. You got my private number. Give me a buzz the second you got something. Otherwise stay away from the joint. I’ll be in touch with you if I need you.”

Hux nodded, unable to think of anything to say, and turned towards the door.

“Hey, kid. Tell Grummgar I want to see him on your way out, will you?”

“Yes, right away.”

“That’s a boy. Take care.”

Hux stepped out of the room and quickly closed the door. Perspiration rolled down his scalp, across his forehead and into his eyes. He took out his handkerchief and carefully mopped his wet face. He looked at the closed door and felt a shiver run up his spine, right up to the nape of his neck, making the short hairs stand out straight. God, the boss could be rough when he wanted to. Compared to Snoke his old pal Solo was kid’s play. Hell, he’d get that information, alright. Nobody had to worry about that another goddamn minute. He’d have that information the second Solo even thought about it. 

He hurried down the long hallway, subconsciously tugging at his suit jacket and tie. Just before entering the huge living room he took out his comb and passed it carefully through his flaming red hair. Already he felt better. The place was really jumping. There must have been twenty people in that room and more than half of them were gorgeous dames in low-cut dresses and fancy piled-up hairdos. Some beatnik was thumbing bongos and one of the dames, a blonde, was slowly twisting herself inside out responding to the beat. She had kicked off her high heels and was standing on tiptoes, keeping her legs perfectly still as she rotated her pointed fanny in a wide oval.

Grummgar sat in a weirdly shaped plastic chair, leering at the broad, a fat cigar hanging from his thick wet lips. Hux hurried over to him, the big smile back on his face. 

“Mr. Snoke wants to see you,” he said. 

“Yeah, sure, kid,” Grummgar said, still watching the broad. “Watch this ginch. She can rotate. She’s the greatest.”

“What’s her name?”

Grummgar looked up at him, scowling. “How the hell should I know? Who asks names?”

Hux nodded. He was damned if he was going to say _sorry_ to this fat ugly jerk. He had done enough apologizing for one night. 

“The boss is in the den?” Grummgar asked, trying to disengage his huge body from the chair. “Lousy goddamn chair. Goddamnit. What the hell is Snoke thinking about buying this crap? Some lousy pansy must have thought that one up.”

“Ain’t it comfortable?”

“It’s stinks.”

“It looks comfortable.”

“Ah, crap.” With that observation, Grummgar shifted across the living room towards the hallway leading to the den. 

Don Snoke was lying on a leather couch when Grummgar entered the den. He waved his hand towards a nearby chair and took out a gold cigarette case, tapping the cigarette against the case before placing it between his thin lips. Grummgar flipped out a lighter and leaned over to give him a light. 

“Thanks, Grum,” Don Snoke said, dragging heavily on the butt. “How’s the party going in there?”

“Getting hot,” Grummgar said, winking. “That kooky belly dancer is doing it all over the joint.”

Don Snoke grinned. “I like a good party,” he said. “A real swinging affair.”

Grummgar puffed on his cigar and crossed his thick legs. He looked down to admire his Italian loafers. “Well, what’s with pretty boy?”

Don Snoke fixed his cold stare on the ceiling. “He tried to give me a little crap at first but I straightened him out. Got to be careful. Don’t want him to get wise to the real caper. Not yet, anyway.”

Grummgar nodded, cigar ashes dropping in on his lap. “Goddamn,” he said. “A brand new suit.” He took out his handkerchief and flicked it across the dark stain. 

“You’re a slob,” Don Snoke said. “You’re the only guy I know who can make a three-hundred-dollar suit look like something from a bargain basement.”

“What the hell,” Grummgar said, grudgingly. “Don’t this piece of thread look good?”

“F’gossake, sit down,” Don Snoke said. “You make me nervous. Now, let’s get back to business. Hear from Snap or Opan?”

Grummgar sat down again and recrossed his legs. “Opan called me. Snap was at the doc’s. Seemed Solo worked him over for no damn reason at all.”

“What?”

“Opan said the kid took him apart for laughs. Nearly broke his neck with a two-handed rabbit punch under the ear.”

“What is he, crazy or stupid?”

“According to Opan he’s neither. He’s a pretty shrewd and tough little bastard.”

“Well, let him be tough. That’s what we need. Wonder how he’s gonna crack that joint? I’d like to see that.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you or nothing, but for my dough he’s not gonna crack it. That casino is like Fort Knox.”

“Maybe, but tougher places have been cracked. What else did Opan have to say?”

“Not much. You know Tritt. Rooster is playing it straight. Opan was there all the time he talked to Solo. No problem so far.”

Don Snoke sat up and stretched. “We can’t miss. With Opan and Snap at his side all the time we’ve got it made.”

“I still wish we had Opan and Snap with the kid.”

“Forget it. This is just as good. Better even. Now there’s no chance of anybody tying us up in the deal. It’s better all around. When the time comes we’ll be there and ready.”

Grummgar shook his head in wonderment. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Dell. That’s one clever piece of work. Solo cracks the joint and then we crack Solo and use the dough to buy into the damn place. Two million bucks should buy at least twenty, thirty points.”

“We’ll put another couple million and buy sixty points. I want a controlling interest.”

“Man, that’s okay.”

Don Snoke stood up and leaned against the desk. “It’s got to work, Grum. I want this bad. Real bad.”

“Well, let’s hope the boychick still has some steam left after twelve years in stir. That kind of jolt could can break anybody.”

Don Snoke nodded, clenching his white teeth. “Nobody better screw up. That’s all I’ve gotta say.”

Grummgar stood up, aware that the confab was over. “Coming in to the bash?”

“Later. Keep in touch with Opan and Snap and keep me posted.”

“You bet,” Grummgar said, starting towards the door. 

“Hey, Grum, send that kook in here, will you? Want to see what that dance looks like.”

Grummgar winked knowingly and clenched his fist. “Yeah, I get you, Dell, take it from me. That ginch is dynamite. Wild, man.”

The two men grinned at each other a moment before Grummgar went out and gently closed the door.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning for: A brief uncomfortable situation between a man and woman. Nothing happens but the creepy rapey vibes are there. Take care, dear readers.**

The kook was Kaydel Ko Connix, a twenty-four year old _model_ who in the last six years had tried everything to crash the movies — including a mad dash across Chandrila and Hanna in the buff at 3 a.m. Her real name was Catherine Lourd and she was from Dulathia, Oregon, where she had been voted the prettiest girl of her high school graduating class. She played a leading role in the class play and won much local acclaim. Everyone who saw the play was positive that Kaydel had a great future awaiting her in Chandrila. The local gazette praised her to the sky, using every superlative they could lay their hands on. To Kaydel it was not exactly a surprise. She had secretly suspected this precious talent since the first day she had read a movie magazine at the age of eleven. She had spent thousands of hours play acting before a full length mirror, studying each expression and mannerism, repeating them over and over again, until they had become subconsciously part and parcel of her personality. She had an expression and mannerism for every action and reaction. In the play it had been startingly effective for the audience. But for the kids who knew Kay, it was just more of her fancy ways. 

That summer of graduation, Kaydel entered a beauty contest and became Miss Sugar Beet. For three weeks she toured the state in a white bathing suit, smiling and tossing her golden blonde hair at everyone who seemed the least important. It was difficult for Kaydel to tell who was important. After all, the men all looked alike, fat and balding, with wet itchy hands and hungry eyes. She received enough propositions to have kept Mamie Stover on the run for a year. She only accepted one of the propositions and the propositioner turned out to be a shoe salesman at J.C. Penney who had a wife and six kids. 

Kaydel returned home from her tour more determined than ever to go to Chandrila. Her mother sided with her and the family squabbles became endless and finally in desperation the father bought her a one-way bus ticket and washed his hands on the whole matter. He had lost a daughter but gained a wife. 

Kaydel never returned home. At first she wrote cheerful letters, describing in detail every new thing she saw with many asides concerning this and that movie star she had seen in person. But soon the tone began to change, the awe lost its edge and hope seemed to flag. Everything was going along fine, she wrote, but between the lines it was plain enough to see that everything was far from fine. A little over a year after she left the letters stopped completely. Letters mailed to her were returned, stamped Address Unknown. Mrs. Lourd became alarmed and Mr. Lourd decided he better do something about it. He wrote to the Corellia police enclosing a picture of his daughter in a bathing suit, holding a huge sugar beet in her hand. A few weeks later the police wrote back that they were unable to find Kaydel, and that her name had been placed in the Missing Persons file. Mrs. Lourd went into hysterics, and Mr. Lourd worked longer hours and increased his yearly income by two thousand dollars.

Now six years later, Kaydel Ko Connix was still trying to crash the movies. She had an agent who worked out of a run-down two-room apartment on the wrong end of Revolina Boulevard, and who had the uncouth habit of talking out of the corner of his mouth. His speciality was furnishing young girls for parties and quite often for more intimate purposes. It was all done in the name of career and a fifty dollar bill. The girls, of course, could make more with the proper attitude. A girl like Kaydel Ko Connix, who could dance and keep things lively, became popular which was good if she wanted to stay in the business. At the right kind of a party, a girl so inclined could easily collect a smart bonus. It was part of the business and anybody in the know could name a dozen big actresses who had launched fabulous careers doing the same tricks. As long as the girl’s looks stood up there was always a chance some big wheel would take a fancy and wave his magic wand, metamorphosing her into America’s number one celluloid sweetheart.

Kaydel Ko Connix’s looks had stood up remarkably well under the wear and tear of six frustrating years. Except for a slight hardness around the mouth and eyes, she was even more beautiful than she had been at eighteen. Her waistline was smaller and bustline larger. She had learned all kinds of subtle touches that enhanced natural beauty. But her most attractive feature was her belly dance, a speciality that had aroused the interest of more than one famous movie star. Unfortunately, not one of her childhood Prince Charmings had been able to further her career. That did not stress her. She figured those tricks had been strictly for sentimental kicks. After all, a girl needed something for her scrapbook. Something she could look back on when she got old and gray and flat on her butt. At least, she’d have some red-hot memories.

Now, at Adelmo Snoke’s party, she was drunk and had been dancing for the better part of a half-hour. Her full red mouth was open and her brown eyes closed. Small beads of perspiration dotted her delicately chiseled nose. She’s swayed, her arms extended at her side, her body bent at the knees, her hips thumping almost imperceptibly as she undulated to the Afro-Cuban rhythm of the bongos. Most of the men had a gathered around her, their glazed eyes vastly amused as they watched the movement of her small, pointed, tightly encased rump.

“Okay, sis,” Grummgar said, grabbing her arm and pulling her away from the crowd.

“Hey, don’t bruise the merchandise,” she said, struggling to break the iron hold on her arm. 

“Cut it, kiddo, don’t give me no trouble.”

“Let go, you big jerk. Who do you think you’re hustling anyhow?”

“I know who I’m hustling,” he said. “So calm down and listen for a minute.” He twisted her wrist. 

“Alright, I’m listening!”

“Adelmo Snoke wants to see you in his private den.”

“Ooooh,” she cooed, her brown eyes widening. “The big man himself. Well, why didn’t you say so, stupid?”

He raised his huge hand, the anger flushing his face. “I’ll belt you good,” he said. “You just watch your tongue, you little bitch.”

She seemed unaware of his anger. “Take me to your leader,” she said, then suddenly lurched around. “Wait, wait, my shoes. Where are my goddamn shoes?” She staggered into the crowd, pushing and shoving, doubling over, the blonde hair falling across her face. 

Grummgar grabbed her arm again. “Forget the lousy shoes. The man wants you _now._ Get it! Now! This goddamn minute.” 

“Those damn shoes cost me thirty bucks,” she said, hopping along as he pulled her up the hallway to the den’s door.

“Now get in there and be nice,” he said, opening the door and pushing her in.

She staggered into the room and the door slammed shut behind her. Slowly, she pushed the hair from her face and peered about the room. 

“Ah, Adelmo, doll-cat-baby, there you are. Hey, we gonna have a little ball, doll? Just you and me?”

Don Snoke stayed behind the desk, his blue eyes coldly studying her closely. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? You stoned?” 

“Me? Oh, Adelmo, doll-cat-baby, I’m cool, daddio.”

“Yeah, well, take off them rags and really cool off.”

“Hey, not so fast, doll-cat-baby. What do you say we get acquainted first? My name is Kaydel Ko Connix. I’m an actress.”

“Sure,” he said. “And I’m J. Edgar Hoover.”

“But I am an actress. Watch, see, I’ll do a scene from _Our Town._ ”

“Can it. All I want from you, baby, is a dance.”

She flipped her fingers. “Just like that, heh?”

“That’s right. Just like that.” 

“Well, Adelmo, doll-cat-baby, and all that jazz, you can go and take a flying jump for yourself. _Arrivederci._ ”

Don Snoke reached under the desk and pressed a button. “Okay,” he said. “Blow, baby. Open the door and blow.”

She struggled with the door, her blonde hair again in her face, her little pointed bottom twisting fiercely. 

Don Snoke burst out laughing. “Save your energy, sweetheart. The door’s locked. There’s not a locksmith in town that can open it. It’s electrical.”

“I’ll scream,” she threatened. 

“Go ahead. The walls are soundproof. Anything else on your mind?”

She shook her head and leaned against the door. Her brown eyes looked hurt. “You’re either gonna ask like a gentleman or you’re gonna have to assault me.”

“Who told you about gentlemen? What the hell could you possibly know about that subject?”

“I want a drink,” she said. 

“Help yourself. The bar is on your left.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled and staggered to the bar. “Want one?”

“Sure, baby, a short one. Friends again?”

“Why not, Adelmo, doll-cat-baby? Why in hell not?” She fixed two drinks and brought them to the desk. 

“Sit up here,” he said, tapping the desktop. “So I can take a good look at you.”

She pushed herself up, bringing her legs up and folding them so that she faced him with her chin resting on her bare kneecap. 

“That’s a nice pair of panties you’re wearing, baby.” Don Snoke said, looking up her dress, admiring the smooth white thighs. 

“Want me to take them off, Adelmo, doll-cat-baby?”

“Later, sweetheart, later. For now I like it this way. Gives me something to think about.”

“Well, what doya know. A thinker.”

Don Snoke leaned forward and gently touched her ankle. “Nice. Very nice, baby.” His hand slowly crawled up her leg, moving towards the back of it, caressing the calf. “Now, that’s okay. I like you already.”

“Thanks a lot,” she said, taking a swallow of the liquor. 

“Now how about doing that little dance for me?”

“I’d like to, Adelmo, doll-cat-baby, but I need the bongos. I need a cool beat.”

“Come on, stop stalling.”

“But Adelmo, doll-cat-baby, I wanta dance for you. Honest. I need a beat. Bongos do things to me.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Don Snoke said. “I follow you all the way, sweetheart.” He reached over and flipped a switch on the intercom. “Mitaka,” he hollered. “Mitaka, you bastard.”

“Yes, Mr. Snoke,” a deep voice answered. 

“Bring that bongo jerk to my office right away.” 

“Yes, sir!”

“And bring that Chinese screen from my bedroom.”

Don Snoke beamed up at Kaydel Ko Connix. “Baby, you just gave me a great idea. You and me are gonna have a real party.”

She emptied the drink. “I’m way ahead of you, Adelmo, doll-cat-baby.”

“Hey, you’re pretty smart.”

“I’m hip, daddy.”

Don Snoke leaned back in the chair and tasted his drink, his blue eyes fixed on a spot of black lace. The dame was a kook but man she had plenty on the ball. She was a real lush dish with the nicest damn pair of gams he had seen in a long time. 

When the knock came out the door, Don Snoke pressed the button under his desk and jumped up, hurrying towards the door. Dopheld Mitaka, one of his bodyguards, came in with the ornately decorated Chinese screen in his arms, the beatnik following closely behind him. 

“Okay, set it up over there next to the bar. And you, buddy, get behind it and stay behind it. Understand? If I see your head at any time I’ll have a Mitaka here cut it off and mail it to your mother special delivery. You play them bongos and don’t pay no attention to nothing else. Get me?”

“Sure, man, I dig you the most. Crazy!”

“Okay, dig in behind there and start playing.”

Mitaka looked around the room, his dark eyes puzzled. 

“What’s your problem?” Don Snoke demanded. 

“Nothing, Mr. Snoke. Nothing at all.”

“Get lost, I’ll call you when I need you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kaydel slid off the desk and carefully adjusted the spaghetti strap of her skin tight black dress. She looked down at her empty glass, shaking her head sadly. She picked it up and held it above her head, peering closely at the glass bottom. “Could have sworn there was a hole in the damn thing,” she mumbled. “Kaydel wants a drink,” she announced to the room. “Kaydel wants a big fat drink.”

Don Snoke waited until Mitaka had left before approaching her. “You’ve had enough,” he said, taking the glass out of her hand.

“I wanta drink,” she said, stamping her foot. “I wanta drink, I wanta drink, I wanta drink.” Suddenly, she grabbed the glass out of his hand and flung it across the room. 

“Okay, dammit, get your lousy drink, then start dancing.” 

She grinned, running her hands through her long blond hair. “You’re nice, Adelmo, doll-cat-baby, you’re,” and she growled, “so sweet.”

“Get the drink and start dancing.”

She danced her way to the bar and filled a water glass full of whiskey. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he cried. 

“Be quiet,” she said, holding her finger against her lips. “Listen. Thannie boy, give Kaydel baby a nice cool beat.” 

The bongos started thumping, soft and mysterious behind the Chinese screen. Kaydel leaned her elbows on the bar, burying her face in the glass, her back turned to Don Snoke, who sat on the leather sofa, watching with a fixed hungry expression. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, her body began to throb and undulate. 

By this time the dance had become subconscious with her. The bongos called and her body responded. She never knew what her nerves and muscles were going to do next. It was all strange and wonderful. Like some real hip jazz musician improvising, blowing up a storm, man, without a thought in his head. It all came natural, you know, real cool and swinging, and, man, all them cats knew it and flipped. 

She lapped the whiskey with her tongue, and her brown eyes, glassy and half-lidded, peered myopically at the row of bottles behind her. Gradually, the tempo of the bongos increased and her body instantly answered with a faster and wider swing. Then suddenly she squealed and spun around, flinging out her arms, her body bending at the knees, her head rocking, the blonde hair flying, her hips swinging. 

Don Snoke whistled and clapped, his pale blue eyes blinking wildly. “Take it off,” he screamed. “Goddamn, take it off.”

Her teeth flashed and her hand crawled up at the front of her dress, the long slender fingers twisting the raw silk. Suddenly, savagely, she ripped the dress all the way down the front and let it drop at her feet. She stood completely naked except for the brief black lace panties. White thighs flashed.

Don Snoke exclaimed. “Get a load of that, baby!” She continued dancing, her body slowly turning. 

Don Snoke jumped up and grabbed her. “Keep it up, baby. Be nice now, be real nice to Adelmo and he’ll take good care of you. Understand?” 

She laughed and jumped up, her body still moving. 

“Baby, baby, baby,” he mumbled, his hands caressing her. 

She still tried to dance, to keep beat with the bongos. Her arms fluttered aimlessly at her side, her torso frozen in his paralyzing grip. 

She laughed, rubbing her hand through his wiry hair. “Come on, big man,” she teased. 

She closed her eyes. Behind the screen, the bongos had grown louder and more feverish, the beat frenetic.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special THANK YOU to Chibirini1 for beta-ing this chapter. Please treat yourselves to her amazing works ❤️❤️❤️

Ben Solo’s first air ride was in a Lambda 707 jet. He sat erectly, the adjustable lounge chair all the way forward, his dark brooding eyes studying the crazy-quilt landscape of the greens and grays and blues as they passed over the Takodana Valley. Later it was the rugged, jagged peaks of the Craits and then the flat dull amber of the Cantonica desert. Rey sat at his side, sipping a glass of domestic champagne, chattering aimlessly on the virtues of air travel.

“Imagine,” she said. “Less than two hours air time and it would have taken nearly two days by car. Ain’t that fantastic. Geez, it just seems impossible when you think of it. This big thing moving through the air just like a little bird.” She sighed heavily and tentatively touched his hand. “Geez, Ben, I just love to fly. Don’t you? Someday I’d like to fly back to Europe, you know, over the North Pole, all the way to Paris. That must really be something. I knew a guy once who had lived in Paris for years. He had studied art there. Geez, he was a kook. Wore one of those a little beatnik beards on his chin, you know, and he talked real crazy. I didn’t know what he was talking about half the time. Real big words. Geez, this long.” She held her hands up, spreading them apart and giggling. “Words you never even heard of in your whole life. I couldn’t even pronounce them, never mind know them. Anyway,” she shrugged, “I’d feel silly saying them. I’d like to be down to earth. None of that highfalutin stuff. Don’t you think so? A person should be himself or herself and shouldn’t put on the dog or anything like that. Be yourself, I say—”

Ben reached over, grabbing the back of Rey’s head and silenced her with a kiss. “I’m trying to think.”

“Oh, sorry. Geez, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t stop talking. I guess I am nervous or something. I remember—”

Solo turned and placed a proprietary hand on her knee. “Look, Little Bit, if you got to talk then talk about Canto Bight. Tell me what you know about it and keep the voice down.”

“Oh, I could tell you a lot about that dump. Geez, the creeps I’ve met there. It’s a real dog-eat-dog jungle. All them clubs are owned by these hoodlums and they’ve got a whole lot of punks walking around in deputy sheriff’s uniforms. They act like cops, you know, but most of them got records as long as your arm. They’re real tough bastards and they carry guns and wear badges, and when they work you over, you know it. I knew a guy once who got a ride, you know, in the desert and they beat the beejeezus out of him. They went way out there, maybe twenty miles off the main highway, and stripped him naked, even his shoes, and let him walk back in the middle of the night. Geez, let me tell you it’s cold out there in the desert at night. He was buzzed by germsville almost two months.”

Solo nodded knowingly. “How many of those jokers do they have at the Canto?”

“Geez, I don’t know, but I’ll bet there’s at least twenty of them in the casino alone. They’re everywhere. Besides that they’ve got shills and house peepers who walk around like tourists. Things are really tight. Geez, I ought to know. A girl alone in that town better watch her steps. A lot of those peepers like to pimp on the side and if they think you’re a loner they’ll give you a rough way to go. You know, they don’t want no competition. Lots of whores work as shills. They got suckers to gamble, then when he’s lost everything they kiss him off but fast. It works two ways, you know. If a sucker makes a killing at the tables, then the shill really gives him the business. She puts out and everything, just so the sucker will get back to the tables and lose what he’s won. A sucker can get a run of luck but, boy, if he sticks with it long enough he’s gonna end up with the big fat zero. The percentage is with the house. All the house got to do is keep the sucker playing and sooner or later they wipe him out. Lots of big gamblers play there but they know the score. If the dice start running, they play them hard, but the minute they cool off, those guys get lost real fast. Hit and run, you know.”

Solo shook his head. “You’re quite a dame, Rey.”

“Well, thanks, Ben. I take that as a real nice complement.”

“Do they know you at the Canto?”

“No, I don’t think so. I usually hang around the Starkiller and Porg. Or the Sea Inn. They do the best business.”

“Yeah,” Solo said, rubbing his chin. “Then why pick the Canto for the heist?”

She shook her head. “Geez, I don’t know. They do pretty good business, too. It’s one of the biggest joints there.”

Solo looked out the window without answering. 

“Sure,” she said. “I understand. You’ve got a big job ahead. Boy, I’d be doing some thinking too if I was in your shoes. Wow!”

Solo glanced at her, his dark brooding eyes suddenly brittle and cold. She noticed the tightening along the jawline and saw the muscle twitch just above below the corner of his mouth. 

“Sorry,” she said. “I’ll be quiet.”

Solo pressed a lever on the armrest, lowering the chair and closed his eyes. Just three days ago he had been behind the gray walls with screws walking the top of them with automatic rifles. Planes had growled overhead and Solo had imagined himself inside the slick metal tubes. It had presented the ultimate goal in freedom, beyond the power of all man-made walls. Beyond the law itself. Once safely inside a plane, no one or nothing could touch you. You were safe. Absolutely one hundred percent safe from all the world. What more could a man ask for than to just stay up there, suspended in space forever? 

Solo closed his eyes, his hands fastening on the armrests. It felt like if he let go he would calmly float above the seat. The deeper whistling hum of the jets was like the shooting melody of a perfectly attuned violin. 

So many things had changed on the outside in the last twelve years. It was funny how nothing had changed on the inside. It was like a sterile stunted microcosm. A miniature universe, isolated and deserted. It was always the same. Nothing ever changed. The jute mill, the chow, the screws, the cons, the games, the lousy goddamn talk. The gray walls imprisoned the mind as well as the body. You came out the same man you went in. Hungry and screwed up.

“Sleeping?” Rey inquired, leaning forward to peer at his relaxed scarred face. 

Solo didn’t answer. Things would be different now. He was on the outside, a part of the changing world. And he would change along with it. Change everything except one. The one thing that had made him as famous in his time as Babe Ruth. The one thing that nobody else possessed today. A lost art. An art that would net him a cool two million bucks in five minutes work. That was an art a man would want to remember. 

At the moment he hadn’t the slightest idea how he’d go about cracking the casino. But crack it he knew he would. It was as inevitable as time itself. He had thought about it very little during the past two days. Nothing specific. Mostly he had thought about the money and what it would buy. To think specifically about a heist without even seeing the layout was not only ridiculous but totally impossible for him. He had to know the elements he was dealing with before his mind could tackle the problem. He needed something tangible, something physical. Then his mind would go to work. He had no fear about that. That’s the way it had always been, and he knew that was the way it would always be. Nothing could ever change that. It was a natural talent. Like it was with artists and writers and athletes. And nothing could take that talent away from a man. Han Solo had possessed it. He had been the kind of guy who could case a bank and immediately put his finger on the soft spot. You could take a thousand guys and show them the same bank and they’d never spot it. But Han had. And so had Ben Solo. There wasn’t a bank in the country he couldn’t crack with the right tools and organization. Nobody cracked banks these days. Not the way they used to in the old days. All you had today were punk kids and junkies passing little notes to bank tellers, holding out their little paper sacks, ready to run the minute somebody looked cross-eyed at them. 

There was no doubt in Solo’s mind that the casino was going to be the biggest job of his career. Not only would it net the largest bundle but it would be the toughest nut to crack. Professional hoodlums were a lot rougher to deal with than underpaid bank guards. They knew a lot more tricks and could make you a damnsight faster. Well, it was about time somebody taught them a couple of old tricks. “Hey, you’re smiling,” Rey said, squeezing his knee. 

Solo opened his eyes, the smile still curving his lips. “Sure,” he said. “Why not? I’m out, ain’t I? Why shouldn’t I smile?” 

Rey nodded happily. “And you got—” she stopped, quickly and looking around, then leaned close to him, speaking directly in his ear. “And you got plenty of nookie.”

Solo looked deeply into her clear hazel eyes. “And I tend to get plenty more.”

She reached over and squeezed his hand. “All you want, lover.”

Solo held the hand, marveling at its velvet softness, at the slender fingers, the long pink nails. He had never noticed before how beautiful a woman’s hands were. There were a lot of things he hadn’t noticed before. He had been young and wild in those days, never noticing anything except money, booze, fast cars and fast dice. It had all been part of the game. Do it quick and get out quick. No time to waste. The G-men were everywhere, always closing in.

“What are you thinking?” she asked. 

“You,” he said. “How pretty you look all dressed up in pink, with your brown hair up in that ponytail.”

“You look pretty nice yourself,” she said. That’s a nice suit you bought yesterday. I like black on you. It makes you look dangerous.”

“Well, that’s something.” 

“Oh, look,” she said, laying across him to gaze out the window. “That’s Canto Bight down there. Don’t look like much from up here, does it?”

“Nothing looks like much from up here.”

“I mean, you know, it looks small. Like some dusty little hick town. It looks better at night with all the lights and stuff.”

The big plane had begun its descent and Solo could see the long ribbon of asphalt cutting black swath through the brown dusty shimmering hot desert. 

“Fasten your seat belts, please,”  
the stewardess requested. She made it sound like the most pleasant task in the world. 

Solo hooked the belt and checked to see if Rey had hers fastened correctly. The plane was dropping fast now and Solo’s legs involuntarily straightened out, the muscles tensing. It was his first landing and he didn’t know what to expect. There was a slight tremor when the pilot applied the brakes the instant the wheels touched the ground, but that was all. It was a perfect landing and it disappointed Solo. 

“Wasn’t that great,” Rey said. “Boy, he’s terrific.”

“Dull,” Solo said. “I was expecting a little action.”

“Silly. Are we gonna take a cab or the ‘Cantonican Dream’?”

“What's the diff?”

“The ‘Cantonican Dream’ is free but sometimes you have to wait until they get it all filled up.”

“Cab.” 

She sat on the edge of her seat, her eyes anxiously watching as the plane taxied down the wide apron and stopped.

“Geez, you’re gonna like this place,” she said. “It’s real crazy.”

Solo watched the two flunkies in white overalls pushing an aluminum ladder towards the plane. They didn’t look too happy with their job. The plane door open and people started filing out. Rey stood up and Solo followed her down the crowded aisle. The stewardess stood by the door, smiling her perfunctory greeting. 

“Take care, honey,” Rey said.

The stewardess adjusted her smile to accommodate the remark. 

Solo stepped out of the plane and was hit by a blast of hot air straight out of hell. After all those years at the Prism where the fog kept the temperature down even in August, Solo was not prepared for the desert heat. The sheer weight of it staggered him. Rey seemed unaware of the heat. There was a big smile on her face when he joined her at the bottom of the steps. 

“Let’s go right to the Canto,” she said. “The hotel will pick up our bags. I want a tall cool drink and a swim.” 

Solo nodded and took her arm, leading her towards the cab stand.


	9. Chapter 9

The Canto Casino was like all other hotels on the strip, huge and rambling and luxurious, with a schmaltzy exterior decor and tropical shrubbery that looked as out of place in the desert as the pink stucco buildings and extravagant neon signs which proclaimed to all and sundry that Louis Armstrong and Jerry Lewis and Frank Sinatra and Red Skelton were there in the marvelous flesh for the sole purpose of titillating their most cultivated delights.

The cab deposited them before the Canto and the outside doorman opened the first inch-thick glass door while the inside doorman opened the second inch-thick glass door. Solo sighed appreciatively as a blast of crisp refrigerated air hit him full face, instantly drying the preparation on his brow.

“Look at that,” Rey said, pointing to her left.

Solo had seen it all the moment he had stepped into the lobby. Immediately to his left was a huge casino room with its green-topped crap tables lined up in neat rows like coffins. Around them the weary players looked as enthusiastic as pallbearers. It was the strange Canto Bight sound that had first arrested Solo’s attention. The whirring metallic chatter of hundreds of slot machines, the ping-pong of roulette wheels, the giant monotone of the stick men calling the action at the crap tables. Only the blackjack tables were silent, the stone-faced dealers wordlessly flipping cards to the stone-faced players.

The scene impressed Solo. Gambling was supposed to stir excitement but in this plush ornately decorated room, it looked more like a mass wake. Everybody looked solemn and exhausted. All like that fat dame in brief shorts who was mechanically depositing silver dollars in two slots, yanking both handles at once, never bothering to look up from her work. She had become as precise a machine as the slots.

Solo and Rey registered as Mr. and Mrs. Kylo Ren and were assigned a three-room suite in one of the wings overlooking the Olympic size swimming pool, the palm trees, the flagstone deck, the multicolored chaise lounges, and the bikini-clad showgirls, playgirls and plain whoregirls. It was all very colorful and serene, strictly ultra-colossal. Nothing but the best at prices anyone could afford.

In the room Solo stripped down to his trousers and undershirt and stretched out on the bed, holding his arms under his head. 

“Want me to order a couple drinks?” Rey asked. 

“Not for me. Get one for yourself.”

“That’s okay,” she said, flopping on the bed next to him. “I wish now we had taken the bags with us. I’d sure like to take a swim. Looks real nice out there.”

Solo closed his eyes. “I was out this way in the Forties,” he said. “Was in Tatooine with Han for a while, until he got nabbed by the law. I headed out for Corellia and stopped here a couple days. It was nothing in those days. Just a lot of desert.”

“Geez, that was before my time. I’ll bet I wasn’t big enough to climb a porch or bust a box then.”

“Nobody was big enough then. Hell, that was even before the wheel.”

“Don’t be so sensitive. My goodness I didn’t mean nothing by it.”

Solo opened his eyes and smiled. “Don’t let it throw you,” he said, pulling her against him. “It’s nothing that a little loot won’t cure.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.

Twenty minutes later Solo took his first stroll through the casino. The suitcases had arrived and he had changed into slacks and a wild Hawaiian sport shirt. He looked like any other tourist out for a good time as he casually made his way around the large room, his dark brooding eyes automatically recording everything in sight. On his first turn around he counted fourteen deputy sheriffs. Not one paid the slightest attention to him. A jazz combo was playing behind the bar in the lounge adjoining the casino and Solo stopped for a drink. He sat at one of the small tables, his back to the bar, facing the casino. Directly across the casino room was the cashier’s office. There were two cages, protected by steel bars, and three men inside. There was a walk-in size vault at the back of the office and the massive steel doors were open. Solo ordered a Tom Collins, a drink that matched the Hawaiian shirt, and gave the waitress a quarter tip.

Two of the men in the cashier’s office sat at a long table, counting money and stacking chips, while the third one stood at one of the cages, waiting for business. Solo finished his drink in a leisurely walk over to the cashier’s window. 

“Five dollar chips,” he said, passing a C-note through the small opening.

He received two stacks of red chips and moved to the crap table closest to the cashier’s cages. He waited for a new shooter and dropped a chip on the Come line. The shooter crapped out. Solo doubled up. The next shooter rolled a five, a nine, a six, a ten, a six, a seven. Solo doubled up again. A sawed-off kid who somehow looked familiar to Solo was next along the rail to get the dice. The Latin type with black wavy hair and the kind of black eyes some women go for. He grinned like a bumpkin and cocked his head as he rattled the bones next to his ear. A small crowd had gathered around the boy and Solo finally recognized him as the lead actor in a T.V. western series called _Lariat._ He had a large following at the Prism. Solo dropped another four chips on the Come line. The kid caught the action and displayed his dazzling teeth.

“That’s right, amigo. Just ride along with old Poe Dameron and we’ll break this little old house.”

The gawkers laughed, quickly looking at each other, proud of their clever hero.

“Here she comes,” he said, and rolled a natural. Applause greeted the victory.

Solo picked up his chips and walked away. “Hey, mister, come back here,” the kid called. “Don’t nobody let my luck walk away like that. Stop him somebody.” 

A middle-aged woman with diamond-studded wing-shaped eyeglasses was the first to reach Solo. “You have to come back,” she said, staring wildly at Solo through the thick lenses. “Poe needs you.”

“Get lost,” Solo said. 

Two other followers reached Solo. “What’s the matter with you, fella?” a fat man asked. His face was red and his mouth was twisting angrily. “Mr. Dameron wants you back at the table, so get with it, fella.” 

Solo could feel a hundred eyes watching him. Already a crowd was beginning to form. “Okay,” he said, and quickly went back to the table. 

“Well, old amigo,” Poe Dameron exclaimed in mocked surprise. “You’re back. Now I’ll show them varmints a little action.” 

Solo placed all his chips on the Come line. He could feel the perspiration forming just below his hairline and his face felt hot and flushed. Of all the dumb luck, he thought. He could have walked around for a year without anyone ever actually seeing him. And now, suddenly, in the first ten minutes everybody knew him. Not only that but they would remember him. He was the guy who had brought the cute movie star all that good luck. Solo swore under his breath, the muscles in his arms and legs tensing as anger began to gather momentum. It was the wrong time to get mad but he couldn’t help it. It was building up inside of him like storm clouds over the Atlantic. Maybe, the goddamn jerk would crap out and move on. Solo looked at the grinning face, at the big mop head, the upturned nose, the reddish brown eyes. Goddamn, what he wouldn’t give to smash the insipid face.

“Here we go, amigo,” the kid said, casually tossing the dice across the table. 

Another natural. Solo let the chips ride. The kid threw still another natural. Solo lit a cigarette and forced a smile that froze the corners of his mouth. Other people were coming to the table now. All of them looking at the kid and Solo, whispering excitedly.

The kid tossed six naturals before getting a number. His number was nine, Solo glanced down at his chips, estimating he had approximately eight thousand bucks in front of him. There was close to thirty thousand in front of the kid. He wasn’t grinning as much now. His reddish eyes were getting that fixed anxious greedy look. 

“Easy nine,” he said, rolling the dice between his palms. “Easy, easy nine. Little old nine. Little old five and four. Little old six and three. Good old little old nine.” He talk to the dice, nervously shifting from foot to foot, a thick black curl limply hanging across his forehead.

“Big nine,” he said. “Big old fat nine be good to little old me. Come on, nine.” He flung the dice across the table and over the rail. 

“No dice,” the croupier said. 

The kid scratched his head like he did on his show when things got out of hand. It was a mannerism that was well known by the crowd. There was laughter and applause. 

“Get ‘em, Poe,” a man called. “Give ‘em hell, boy.”

“Yeah, Poe. Don’t let your old amigo down over there.”

Everybody looked at Solo and the stack of chips before him. 

In the crowd around the table Solo was sure he had spotted a couple of plain-clothes security cops. By now they had his kisser permanently engraved on their blotter-like minds. He wouldn’t be able to take two steps in the casino without being instantly recognized and watched. One of them, a hard-faced character, looked at Solo as though he was trying to remember something important. He turned and whispered something to the other shamus, who nodded and quickly left the room. He was back seconds later with the desk clerk, who gave Solo a quick once over and whispered to the hard-faced shamus, who nodded, dismissing the clerk. Solo felt trapped. The only thing that could possibly save him now was for the kid to crap out. That was the only way any of those characters would lose interest interest in him. He remembered what Rey had told him about winners. The last thing he wanted to be was a sixteen thousand dollar pigeon. 

Poe Dameron had the dice again and this time he didn’t even bother whispering to them. He merely shook them a couple times and flipped them across the table, his reddish eyes following the roll with the intensity of a cat leaping a mouse. 

There was a yell around the table and Solo stared incredulously at the four and five. The kid gave a wild whoop and ran around the table to shake Solo’s hand.

“Amigo,” he said. “I’m gonna buy you the best little drink in the house.” He slapped Solo across the shoulder and turned to the croupier. “Cash me in, Thamm,” he said. “I’ll pick it up at the cage later.”

“Yes, Mr. Dameron,” the croupier said, carefully stacking the chips in neat little rows. 

Solo picked up sixteen one thousand dollar chips and dropped them in his pocket. 

“Mister,” Damron said, his arm draped across Solo’s shoulders, maneuvering him towards the lounge. “You just won me sixteen little old G’s. That’s what I call being mighty friendly.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” Solo said. 

“Oh, yes, you did. And, amigo, I’m gonna treat you right. Hear me? From now on you’re my little old asshole buddy. What’s your name, little old buddy? 

“Ren. Kylo Ren.”

“That’s a fine city name,” Dameron said. “Mighty fine big city name. Where are you from, amigo?”

The crowd followed closely, not missing a word. “Look,” Solo said. “I’m gonna have to take a raincheck on that drink.”

“Oh, no, you don’t, little old buddy.”

“Okay,” Solo said. “Then let’s get the hell out of this goddamn zoo.”

“Zoo? Why dem’s my public,” Dameron said, spreading his arm, inviting one and all to his broad bosom. 

“Dem’s a goddamn bunch of jerks,” Solo said. “And so are you.” He spun around and viciously elbowed his way through the crowd. 

“Hey, there, little amigo,” Dameron wailed. “Wait for little old Poe Dameron.”

But Solo did not stop until he was in his room with the door securely locked. He leaned against it, breathing heavily, his scarred face drenched with perspiration. From behind the closed bedroom door he heard Rey’s laughing voice.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.

Armie Hux had waited nearly three days for the telephone to ring. In that time he had not been more than twenty feet away from one of the four phones in his Chandrila Boulevard apartment. It had been three aggravating days of walking and fist pounding. Snap had bounced in and out of the apartment but Opan had remained with Hux, his dull yellowish eyes buried in the same comic book. When not engrossed in the comic book, Opan pared has his long fingernails with a six-inch shiv. In all that time the two men had not spoken more than a dozen words to each other. As far as Hux was concerned, Opan was a lousy freak. The cadaverous-looking henchmen was beginning to give Hux the uneasy feeling that he was watching him, suddenly more of a guard than a bodyguard. There was no doubt about the fact that he was a creepy character. Hell, you never knew what he was thinking. All the time sitting there, his thin dry face impassive, his weird eyes looking at you like they didn’t even see you. He was a chain smoker and never took the butt from his mouth until it had burned down to his lips. His thin mouth was ringed by a permanent ochre nicotine stain the exact color of his eyes.

Armie Hux had had plenty of time to think in those three days. Seeing his old friend in Coruscant, first at the Prism, and then at the hotel had left him feeling depressed. The old boy was a peculiar customer. Hux had heard about him all of his life, first from his envious father who had made a career of minimizing the Skywalker-Solo Gang’s crimes and then from the old magazines and news stories he had dug up in the public library in Nal Hutta after his father’s death. Most of the stories had pictured the kid as a cold-blooded killer, some even as a mad dog. Hux had seen him at the house in Nal Hutta twice before the cops nabbed him in a jerkwater town in the south. His capture made the front page of every metropolitan newspaper in the country. The fuzz found four choppers and a half dozen rods, plus cartons of ammo and explosives. He was holed up in some dumpy little lean-to with his tough-looking mother who had knocked around with him nearly three years. Her name was Leia and Armie remembered a picture of her in a crime magazine where her skirt had been raised to disclose a large tattoo on the outside of her thigh. It was a heart with an arrow running through hers and Han Solo‘s initials. Ma Solo had bragged at that time of her marksmanship with a chopper, and claimed to have been the chopper man on two bank jobs. Young Solo had remained silent, a tough wavy-haired young man with sharp penetrating dark eyes and strong white teeth. Some of the rags referred to him as “cold and calculating” while others said he was “surly” and “snarling” during the trial.

Through the years an image had been built in Hux’s mind. A vague featureless image that typified strength and boldness. That was why he had been so shocked by the old boy’s appearance when he had first seen him at the Prism some three months ago. He didn’t look at all like what he expected. His face was scarred and waxen, seraphic looking almost, but even so there was still an inkling of strength in the dark brooding eyes and firm mouth. The purple shadows around the eyes and the lower lip protruded in a sulky pout, like two stuffed sausage links sewn together.

He looked like a stranger. Not only that but the kind of stranger Hux would never bother to know. He was passé. Not at all hip like the cats he hanged around with. He was just a sentimentalist, living in the past. Actually a cube. What did he know about the world today and the way things jumped? And yet there was something about him, something deep in his eyes, that told Hux all he wanted to know. Here was a man who would do anything to achieve his goal. He was a completely selfish, amoral man, without conscience or heart. Nothing would stand in his way, or no one for that matter. All of which was just fine with Hux. This was the kind of man they needed for the job. A man who would do a job and say the hell with the consequences.

When the telephone did ring Hux just stood and stared at it. Opan didn’t look up from his fingernails. On the fifth ring, Hux picked up the instrument. 

“Yeah,” he said.

“Red, sweetheart. This is Rey.”

“Good God, where have you been? I’ve been sitting here on my hands for three days waiting for your lousy call. What’s up?”

“We’re in Canto Bight, baby.”

“Where are you staying?”

“The Canto. Got a nice suite overlooking the pool and everything. Geez, you ought to see it.”

“The Canto? What are you, nuts?”

“What’s the matter, baby?”

“Are you calling from there now? 

“Sure.”

“Oh, my God. Next time get a phone booth. What’s the old boy doing?”

“He’s the sweetest man. Oh, Armie, he’s real gone.”

“I mean what is he doing on the—” he hesitated, groping for the right word, “with the project? How’s it coming along?”

“I don’t know. Geez, he don’t tell me nothing about that.”

“Well, f’gossake, make him tell you. That’s what you’re there for in the first place, stupid. Get the goddamn lead out. Listen, I’ve got to know what’s going on. Now you find out all you can and call me the minute you know. And from a lousy phone booth.”

“Sure, baby. Don’t get all excited.”

“Never mind. What the hell do you think this is, a vacation or something? You get to work and find out things. And you keep me posted. No goofing off if you know what’s what’s good for you.”

“Awright, I hear you. Geez, I haven’t talked to you in three days and all you do is yell at me. Boy, that’s some welcome. I wish I hadn’t called at all.”

Hux gripped the phone fiercely, his handsome face pinched and tight. “You dumb bitch,” he snapped. “You better wake up fast. You louse me up and you’ll be one goddamn sorry-looking dame. Now, get that info and call me. And I don’t mean next week either.”

“Okay, okay,” she said. “I’ll do what I can. After all, I can’t very well make him tell me if he don’t want to.”

“I'd do just that if I was you,” he said. “And I wouldn’t waste no time getting it done either.”

“Is that all you’ve got to say to me? Geez, a girl would think a fella didn’t care for her listening to you.”

“Turn it off. This is business. Tell him the plan was mailed yesterday. Should be there now.”

“You miss me, Armie? Just a teeny-weeny bit?”

“Sure, sure. Now get with it.”

“Give me a kiss,” she said. “Just a little one.”

“Drop dead,” he said, and viciously slammed the receiver against the cradle. He could feel the cold sweat breaking out all over his body. His hands shook and his legs felt like they were ready to buckle. 

“That dumb bitch,” he cried, turning to Opan. “She thinks the whole bit’s a lark. I’ll kill her if she don’t get with it. I promise you. I swear on my mother’s grave. I’ll kill that stupid filthy thieving bitch.”

Opan casually glanced up at him, his yellowish eyes expressionless, then turned his attention to his favorite thumbnail.

Hux leaped across the room, slapping the knife out of Opan’s hand. “F’gossake, I’m talking to you, stupid. What are you? Deaf, dumb and blind? Answer me!”

Opan glanced at the knife which had skidded across the room, a small frown creasing his brow. When he looked up at Hux his face was again blandly impassive.

Rising from the chair, Opan’s attention was back on the lost knife. He moved to swiftly across the room, snapping up the knife, holding it flatly in the palm of his hand. He was still in a crouch and for a moment he looked like he could have sprung across the whole room in one huge fantastic leap. Hux saw a glitter, something like a reflection of light in the topaz eyes, and he found his muscles tightening up.

“Sorry,” he said. “Damn, I’m cracking up waiting around this goddamn dump for that dumb broad to do something.“

Opan came back to the same chair and resumed his manicure.

Hux spun around and ran into the bedroom, flinging himself on the bed in a prone position. He lay there a moment, his tense body perfectly still, his face buried into the pillow. It began slowly. A slight twitching of the leg muscles, then the arms, the neck, the feet, the hands, the fingers, the toes. It was not wild or frantic but rather like a grimacing athetoid motion, punctuated by small tremors.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.

Don Adelmo Snoke beamed conviviality at his most esteemed guest from New Alderaan City. Don Orson Callan Krennic was a Capo Mafioso of rare distinction and magnitude. At forty-nine, he bossed the enormously profitable gambling arm of the Mafia. He was the nation's number one bookie, and reputed to be even wealthier than Francisco Maul, who had by a slow process of criminal osmosis become the number one racket operator in the country and the most powerful Mafia chieftain extant. Krennic was the personification of ebullient health as he smiled at Don Snoke. Though still in his early middle age, his hair was snow white. It was an object of great pride to him, and he increased its effectiveness by diligently maintaining a deep year-round tan. Being of average height, Krennic made up for the couple of inches by curling his long hair so that stood in a huge pile on top of his round head.

“Adelmo,” he said, spreading his arms expansively. “You’ve got a great place here. I heard about it, of course, but had no idea it was so plush. That's good. I like to see a man live in style. What’s the good of all the hard work if you can’t enjoy yourself a little with the profits. Good food, good wine, good women. Makes it all worthwhile.” Krennic was considered the brotherhood’s most effective diplomat.

“Thanks, Orson. Glad you like the place. It’s a big but then I like having people around me. You know, a little action.”

“Sure, Adelmo. Why not? Incidentally who was that broad I saw a little while ago? The one with the gorgeous blonde hair.”

“Oh, that was Kay Connix. She’s an actress.” 

“Really?”

“Well, you know. She’s trying to crash in. Thought I’d give the kid a little push in the right direction.”

“Why not? What’s the good of connections if you don’t use them. Interesting looking.”

Don Snoke forced a smile. “Want an introduction?” 

“Later. First we are to have a little talk. Now don’t get me wrong. Nothing serious. Consider this strictly a social call. Believe me we’re overjoyed with your work here in Corellia. Marvelous job. Maul was talking about it the other day. We couldn’t ask for better cooperation. You’ve done an A-one job all the way. If all the territories were handled as efficiently as yours we wouldn’t have any problems, I mean that sincerely.”

“Thanks a lot, Orson. A guy appreciates hearing a good word now and then.”

“Why not?”

Done Snoke felt the explosion imminent. Anytime now Krennic would unleash a bomb and he’d have to run for cover. Whatever was on Krennic’s mind was important. He could talk all he wanted to about a social call and vacation and all that bull, but the real reason for his visit was business. Big business. Somehow Don Snoke was convinced he was going to end up with the short end of the stick. 

“Let me call, Kay,” Don Snoke said, leaning towards the intercom. 

“No, no, relax, Dell. I told you, later.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“What’s the matter, Dell? You seem a little upset. Anything wrong?”

“No. Hell, no. I feel fine. Great as a matter of fact. Never felt better. Played eighteen holes today.”

“What’d you shoot?”

“Ninety-four.”

Krennic frowned. “You need a little practice. Shot a seventy-seven myself yesterday at Hillcrest.” 

“You were in town yesterday?”

“Been around a few days. Staying with friends in Bela Vistal.”

“Anybody I know?”

“Doubt it. This man’s in oil. Big holdings throughout the Southwest. Dabbles in real estate, too. One hell of a nice guy. Hell, give you the shirt right off his back. Crazy about horses. Used to own a stable of thoroughbreds. Had one in the Kentucky Derby a few years back.” Krennic laughed softly at a private joke. “Not so hot on the golf course, though. Shot about eighty-nine.”

“Just about my speed,” Don Snoke said, joining the laugh. 

“Yeah, just about. A guy like you should get out there more often. Get yourself a pro and doctor up your game. What’s the good of it if you can’t shoot a hot game? Me, I started to right out with a pro and learned this game right. No screwing around. If you’re gonna do something, then, by God, do it the best you can. That’s my philosophy. Game or business. Damn it, do it right. Get the most mileage out of it.”

“You’re absolutely right. I agree with you a thousand percent. I took lessons for a while but I got bored. I think I’ll try again. Can’t lose nothing by it.”

“Sure, that’s the ticket. Sharpen your game and next next time you’re in New Alderaan I’ll call Maul and we’ll all go out for a friendly game. How’s that?”

Don Snoke had an immediate vision of himself on the golf course with Maul and Krennic. He’d probably blow up and slice every lousy ball in that goddamn rough. “I’d like that fine,” he said. “How about another drink?”

“No, no,” Krennic said, placing his hand over the top of the highball glass. “One’s my limit. Not much on liquor. Women, though, that’s a different story.” He laughed and patted his white curls. “Can’t never seem to get enough of that. Know what I mean?”

“I’m with you, Orson. I love ‘em all.”

Krennic nodded, his blue eyes amused. “My idea of a good day is eighteen holes of golf, an A-one dinner, a couple of lively shows and a good piece for a nightcap. Keep you fit as a fiddle.”

Don Snoke gave a loud appreciative laugh. “Let’s face it,” he said. “What a drag the whole bit would be without dames.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“No, I mean in life. I wasn’t talking about the business.”

“Well, sure. A man needs a little exercise every now and then. Wakes him up.”

“That’s no lie. Listen, this blonde can really wake a man up. She’s a wild one. Does a real crazy belly dance. Maybe you’d like to see that bit.”

“Wouldn’t mind at all, but later. Incidentally, was in Canto Bight for a couple days before heading to Corellia. Saw some fantastic shows.”

It was becoming gradually more difficult for Don Snoke to force the congenial smile and affable manners. His heavy lids began to droop over his pale blue eyes, increasing his sinister appearance. Only his white teeth flashed, creating the illusion of a smile.

“What do you think of that town?” Krennic asked. He sat in the easy chair, his short legs crossed, his meaty hands folded on his lap.

“Great town,” Don Snoke said. “Plenty of action.” 

“That’s certainly true. But, you know, it’s the right kind of action. No rough stuff. Strictly one thousand percent legit. And that’s the way we want to keep it. We’ve got some important connections in that town. Big ones and we wouldn’t want anybody screwing them up.”

“Of course.”

“Lots of them boys running the hotels are fronts for friends in Leritor, Nal Hutta, Kashyyyk, Kaddak and even New Alderaan. Maul himself has a controlling interest in the Bothan.”

“I didn’t know that,” Don Snoke said, reaching across the desk to press the switch of the intercom. “Hey, Kay, come fix me a drink.”

“Be right there, daddio,” Kaydel answered.

Don Snoke turned to Krennic, shrugging his shoulders. “She likes to kid around. Full of fun.”

The door opened and Kaydel Ko Connix entered the room, a coy little smile curving in the corners of her full mouth. Don Snoke scowled at her. The bitch was potted again. He’d have to get rid of her. Couldn’t have no lush around the place. Especially when he was receiving guests like Orson Krennic. It made the whole place look bad. Like things were out of control.

“And how about you, little man? Can Kay fix you anything?”

Krennic crossed his leg, his body stiffening, becoming more erect in the chair as he stared at her. By this time she had already reached a small bar and was busily fixing Don Snoke a drink.

“Scotch and soda,” Krennic said. “And make it lean.”

“Sure, little doll-cat-baby. Kay will do it up brown. Would you like that, little man?”

“Shut up and fix the goddamn drinks,” Don Snoke shouted, jumping up behind the desk. “Keep your lousy trap shut. Understand?”

Kaydel Ko Connix began to hum, her small hips swaying with the tune. “I hear you, daddio.”

“What’s the excitement?” Krennic asked, turning to stare at Don Snoke. “Dell, you’re nervous. That’s not like you at all. What’s up?”

“Nothing. I feel fine. I just don’t like for lushed-up dames to get smart with my guests.”

“The kid’s okay. Leave her alone.” 

“Sorry,” Don Snoke said. “I thought she was trying to insult you.”

“What? So she thinks I’m a little man. Maybe I teach her different if I think she’s worth it. Who knows?”

“Okay.”

“Well, hell, Dell, the least you can do is apologize to the kid.”

Don Snoke fixed his blue eyes on Krennic’s smiling face, the resentment so strong he could taste it in his throat.

“I don’t apologize to no cheap dame ever,” he said, flushing angrily.

“So okay. So you’re not a gentleman. Forget it. Let’s get back to Canto Bight for a minute.”

Kaydel Ko Connix’s humming became louder, the hip movement more pronounced. Something very strange was happening in that room, something she hadn’t thought possible. The small white-haired man, who looked as gentle as a Presbyterian minister, had an edge on Don Snoke. And it was a very sharp edge from the way Don Snoke was hopping around.

Don Snoke nodded towards Kaydel, frowning. “How about her?”

“Dell, calm down. Sit down and relax. Okay?”

“Sure, Orson. I just thought — well, never mind.”

“Don’t think. Just listen, will you? Nobody wants any trouble in Canto Bight. We’re keeping that whole machinery oiled up and running smooth as hell. And that costs money. Now, we’ve got a large investment and it’s only natural we want to protect it. Oh, thank you, sweetheart,” he said accepting the drink from Kaydel. He watched her move towards the desk, her hips doing the kind of sensuous tricks few women couldn’t manage on five-inch spikes. She wore an above the knee dark green dress that was cut in the back all the way down to the tip of her spine. It was obvious that she wore nothing under the dress. The thought gave Krennic a tingling sensation. The kid looked real young and juicy. Not a day over twenty-five but with plenty of experience. This dame would come on like gangbusters. Krennic knew the type very well.

“I think I’ll fix myself a little drinkie,” she said, returning to the bar.

“Sure, sweetheart,” Krennic said. “Then you come sit down over there, facing me. Later I want to see you dance. How about that?”

“That’s cool, doll-cat-baby.”

“My name is Orson.”

“Orson who?”

“Just Orson.”

“Okay, Orson doll-cat-baby. You smile real nice and maybe I’ll dance for you. I don’t know yet. All depends on how I feel then. If I can get with it, then it’s fine. Read me, daddio?”

“Sure, sweetheart. You think about it real hard while I talk to my old friend Dell.”

Don Snoke was barely able to sit still. After three years of absolute power, the slightest abuse had become intolerable. Krennic had no right acting that way, throwing his weight around like a two-bit punk showing off for a cheap piece of tail. Don Adelmo Snoke was an important man and deserved red carpet treatment. He had heard plenty about Krennic, especially within the last five years, and there was no doubt about it. The man was important. He was heir apparent to Maul’s throne. Not that Maul was the only king or anything. There was plenty of kings, Maul just happened to be the biggest one, the king with the most connections. Krennic’s legit reputation was better than Maul’s. In the public’s mind, Krennic seemed to have cleaner hands. He was a personal friend of many powerful politicians. His picture had been in the sports pages a few years back when he owned a sharp boy who had copped the championship. Someone, no doubt Maul, had discouraged the venture. The inner sanctum of the Mafia abhorred any kind of publicity. Like a number of other top leaders, Krennic had no record. Not even a vagrancy rap. He was, as they say, a thousand percent clean. That was a claim Don Snoke was unable to make. Counting every little pen scratch, Don Snoke’s record filled two and one-quarter pages. It was just the kind of thing that could hold him back when promotion time came along. Yet guys like Sidious and Vader had fabulous records and still they bossed big operations. It made no difference in their case. They were from the old gang. The young guys coming along now didn’t have to start in the slums. They were well connected right from the start. They either had a father or an uncle or a godfather or even a father-in-law who bossed an operation. There was plenty of dough and the kid got the very best. He didn’t have to scrounge around for a piece of garbage or a broken down pair of shoes. He didn’t have to roll a drunk or heist a candy store or push a bundle of horse. He started learning the business from the top, like Fel’s kids or Sienar’s or any big wheel of industry. Well, it hadn’t been that way for Don Adelmo Snoke. He had made his own way. And he had made it because he was tough, tougher than the other punks on the block. Nobody had handed him anything on a silver platter. By God, he had stolen his own platter and fed himself.

“I think I’ve lost you,” Krennic said, his voice unusually sharp.

Don Snoke grunted and shook himself. “I’m listening,” he said.

Krennic recrossed his legs, narrowed his eyes, and overlapped his lower lip. “Was talking to Unkar Plutt at the Canto the other evening.” He stopped, waiting for the weight of this announcement to sink into Don Snoke’s head. “Know Unkar, do you?”

“Yeah, I know him.”

“Seems that he’s a little worried.”

“What about?”

“You know them Yids get upset easy. Says you were trying to muscle in. Now we know better than that. We know that you know our feelings on that matter. Sure, you’re in charge of the six Western states which includes Nevada. But we also know that you know that Canto Bight and Mos Eisley get special treatment. No action there without our okay. Correct?”

“What did that bastard say to you?”

“Wait a minute. Let’s take this one item at a time. You know our policy? Right or wrong? Yes or no?”

“Sure I know the policy.”

“Then the guy is talking through his hat.”

“You damn right he’s talking through his hat. Let me tell you exactly—”

“Wait, Dell. For Pete’s sake, wait. Let me do it my way. Okay? Just be patient a minute and we’ll get this mess straightened out.”

“Well, I don’t want no Jew bastard talking behind my back.”

Krennic grimaced condescendingly. “How you gonna stop that, heh? People will talk behind your back. We hear things all the time. Hell, do we call you up do we say: ‘Look, Dell, explain this and that. Or Jazzbo said this and that.’ Of course not. We know about these things. It’s all part of the business. A man is bound to make enemies. We don’t condemn him for that. Sometimes to do a good job, a man has got to make enemies. Otherwise he’s goofing off. So okay we understand the situation. Let’s start from that basis. You just follow me here and just answer the questions prior to you. You’re not on trial or nothing. I’m merely gathering the information for the Council.”

Don Snoke’s eyebrows went up, his blue eyes as round as marbles. “The Council?” he stammered. “What, what—”

“Strictly routine. Nothing to get all excited about. Unkar made a complaint. So we’re checking it out. Period.”

Don Snoke nodded, unable to speak.

”Now where the hell was I? Oh, yeah. Unkar is talking through his hat, you say. Okay. Then tell me something. What happened to Slowen Lo?”

The way Krennic pronounced Slowen Lo it sounded like Solo. There was a quick thudding in Don Snoke’s chest, so loud that he was sure Krennic had heard it ten feet away. Then even when he realized that Krennic had said Slowen Lo the name started a whole association of thoughts. Solo was at this minute casing the Canto Casino. Ready to crack it wide open. What if he didn’t wait for Labor Day as planned? What if he was doing it right this minute? Don Snoke quickly passed his hand over his eyes. He’d have to stop Solo. The whole deal was off now. Permanently off. Hell, the way things turned out even if a goddamn hurricane busted the place they’d blame it on him.

“How about Lo?”

“I don’t know,” Don Snoke muttered. “How the hell would I know. Who’s he?”

“He was Plutt’s number one boy. He was the boy who flexed his muscles when you went down to talk to Plutt a few months ago. A week later, Lo disappeared. Plutt has the notion you did something to Lo. Well, what about it?”

“Now I remember the punk. He disappeared? New to me.”

“Yeah. Left in a big hurry. Didn’t even take his new Kalevalan. Left all his clothes, money, jewelry. Just vanished in thin air.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Dell, I’m your friend. What the hell you playing games with me for? I’m not the D.A. Level with me.”

“I’m leveling. I don’t know,” Don Snoke gave it his most sincere and pained expression.

“If I tried real hard I could find out, you know. I could find out within twenty-four hours. How about that, Dell?”

”Orson, for God’s sake, what is this? You’re treating me like a punk kid. Listen, I worked hard for the organization.”

“I know that. We all know that. That’s not the question. All we want to do is get this matter straightened out. You level with me, Dell. I’m on your side. Believe me we’re on the same team.”

Don Snoke bit his lower lip, his pale blue eyes nervously shifting from Krennic to Kaydel, who sat on the sofa quietly sipping her drink, her brown eyes amused as they studied Krennic’s soft features.

Krennic smiled at Kaydel. “Okay, sweetheart. Go in the other room. I’ll see you there. Don’t go away. Understand?”

“I understand perfectly,” she said, casting Don Snoke a significant glance.

“Now,” Krennic said, rubbing his beefy hands together. “Give me the facts. No horse droppings or nothing. Just the facts.”

Don Snoke waited until the door had closed on Kaydel before speaking. “He’s dead,” he said. “The boys buried him in the desert.”

“That’s what I figured. Thanks for telling me. Now why is he dead?”

“He got wise with me and I couldn’t allow that. If I’m gonna run an organization I’ve got to have authority. I can’t let no punk push me around.”

“Is that the real dope?”

“One thousand percent.”

“You weren’t trying to muscle your way into the Canto? You know, knock off Plutt’s boys, put on the heat, then move in?”

“I tried to buy an interest. He wouldn’t sell. I wanted that for myself. It was a personal venture. I was using my own dough and wanted to make a legit deal. All on the up and up.”

“How do you figure doing that?”

“Easy. Look if I don’t use the organization for a private venture then it’s mine, ain’t it? Look, all you guys have personal interests in legit corporations. Why can I do the same?”

“You can,” Krennic said. “But not in Canto Bight. Canto Bight is off limits.” Suddenly, Krennic stood up and approached the desk. “Understand!” he shouted, smashing the palm of his hand against the desktop. “Stay out of Canto Bight. I don’t even want you there on a vacation. Or any of your boys. That’s it, Adelmo. No argument. That's the law. Don’t break it.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear friend Sasha was so kind to provide some NSFW Reylo fanart doll-enacted visuals here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18361556/chapters/43579235
> 
> Thank you, Sasha ❤

Solo had stood before the closed bedroom door listening to Rey throughout most of her conversation with Armie Hux. After she hung up he opened the door and stared down at her, his dark brooding eyes relentless in their search. She lay on the bed, her brunette hair loose, her lush body almost completely exposed by the skimpy bikini.

“Oh, honey,” she said. “I was just talking to Hux. He mailed the plan yesterday. Should be at the post office right now.”

“What did he want to know?”

“Know?” 

Solo crossed the room in three giant steps and jerked her up by a handful of brunette hair.

“Ouch!” she cried, tears welling up in her eyes. “You’re hurting me.”

“And you _love_ it. What did he want to know?”

“Let go of me. I’ll tell you.”

Solo increased the pressure. A noise escaped her, an embarrassingly deep sigh — like air rushing out of something. 

“Out with it.”

“He just wanted me to find out how you’re going to pull the job. That’s all.”

Solo released her and she squatted on her knees, her hands rubbing her scalp. “I don’t like you,” she said. “That hurt.”

“Things are gonna hurt a damnsight more if you plan a double-cross.”

“Oh, Ben, honey. Hux is just nervous about it. He just wants to know what’s going on. And I can’t say that I blame him. I’d like to know, too.”

“You would, heh? Well, tiger puss, don’t hold your breath.”

“Geez, I just don’t know what’s come over you all of a sudden. You was so nice before. Geez, what a change.”

Solo stared down at her, his face slowly softening, the knotted muscles along his jawline disappearing. “Alright,” he said. “Stop whining. If you don’t like it, get out. Nobody’s holding you here.”

“Oh, now, Ben, honey, don’t be like that. We was having such a nice time until this very minute. Geez, I can’t remember when anyone was so nice to me. First I thought you was just a candyleg but I was beginning to like you a lot. Honest, I mean that. Now you spoiled everything.”

“So I spoiled it. So pack up and go find yourself another sucker. It’s the oldest trick in the world. Want to pump a guy? Use a woman. And I grabbed.”

She reached up and timidly took his hand. Her hazel eyes were wide and pleading. Slowly she brushed his hand against her lips.

“Don’t be mad,” she said. “I forgive you.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Honey, please, don’t be mean. Look, you be good to me and I’ll be good to you. I’ll tell you all you want to know.”

“Give it to me straight. The whole story.”

“There’s no story. Hux just wants me to keep him posted on what you do and everything. He promised to cut me in on the deal. That’s all.”

“How much?”

“Ten percent. I guess that’s a lot of money. I don’t—”

Solo was moving before she had stopped talking. “We’re checking out,” he said. “Call downstairs and get a car, one of those rentals. And get the lead out. I ain’t got all day.”

She jumped off the bed, bewildered by the snap decision, “Why? I didn’t even have a chance to take a swim. Please, Ben, let’s stay here.”

“I don’t have time to argue,” Solo said. “Come or stay. It’s up to you. I’m leaving.”

She watched him emptying the drawers for a moment, tossing the stuff in the open suitcase, then went into action. She picked up the phone, and while giving directions to the desk clerk, quickly stripped off the bikini. When he necked her passionately. Rey was pinned against the wall and helpless, and a little breathless beneath his bulk. 

“Take off your bottoms,” he said after a while.

“What? Now?”

“Take ‘em off!”

She looked at him; did. He turned her against the bed. He opened her legs, undid his belt and pulled down his pants. He prepared to enter her.

He couldn’t see her face, and she didn’t want him to because it was blowing up inside, red and furious, hands on either side, gripping a pillow in her fists as he breathed behind her, hot air down her back which was starting to sweat and slip on his stomach. 

She gasped, her eyes went wide and her head arced back sharply. “Oh. My. God.” she whispered.

She was in a state of total disbelief. It was dirty. It was good. Rey’s eyes closed… and Ben made love to her like a dog. His face nuzzled into her hair and he kissed her ear as she grimaced at the mint green pastel wall which was cool when she puts her hand on it to help her rebound into him, got him to fill up her body until there was nothing left of her inside: just Ben.

 _“Goddamn it! Yes!”_ he hissed, their skins slapping, driving himself harder into that maddening clutch of hers, that heat. She was whining with pleasure and splashed him, her arousal getting everywhere and running down the insides of her trembling thighs, and that pleased him. He would make her climax again right away.

His fingers gathered up a handful of her hair like torn silk and wound it around his fist, drawing her head back with a sharp tug. And there was that moan again. That breathy little moan. It was so welcomed. Pain enhanced the pleasure. Rey was a believer. His hips made a rapid staccato on her polished ass. Like the rat-tat-tat of a chopper, he thought. “You — Belong — To — Me.”

“Yes, baby! Forever!” Her eyes jerked wide and shut as he came inside her with a roar. Then he took it, the white character, and they passed it back and forth between them till it no longer existed, till they didn’t know who had him like a lost planet somewhere in the body. Rey felt branded afterward. Less than ten minutes later, she was packed and fully dressed, including makeup and brunette hair twisted in a ponytail. The bellhop came for the bags and they went down to the front desk, where Solo cashed in the sixteen one thousand dollar chips. Rey gaped at the chips, never before having seen a piece of plastic worth a thousand dollars.

The car, a 1959 Old Republic, was waiting at the entrance. Solo gave it one glance and pushed Rey behind the wheel.

“You can drive, can’t you?” he asked.

“Sure, I’ve been driving for years.”

“You’re going to have to explain about that automatic shift. I’ve never worked one.”

“That’s easy. Geez, you’ll catch on in no time.”

They drove down the Strip, passed the Starkiller and Sea Inn, towards the center of town. 

“Let’s find a Post Office,” Solo said. “And then let’s blow this dump.”

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know. Stop at a gas station and I’ll pick up a map.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t try to,” he said. “I don’t either. All I know is there's something wrong. I’m just following my instinct like I’ve done all my life. When I feel it in here,” and he pointed to his abdomen, “right down in the guts, then I know it’s time to do something.”

“Don’t worry about Hux,” she said. “I won’t call him ever.”

Solo reached over and patted her thigh. “That’s my girl,” he said.

She glanced at him and smiled warmly. God, this man floods my basement, she thought. “Thanks. It’s the first sweet thing you’ve said to me. Geez, it makes me feel real gooey inside.”

Solo smiled and settled back in the seat. At the Post Office, the letter from Hux was there as promised. They stopped at a service station and picked up a map. While the attendant serviced the car, Solo studied the map. Canto Bight was in the middle of nowhere. A desert outpost. The closest towns had such oddball names as Geonosis, Korriban, Moraband, Savareen, and Ryloth. The nearest place of any size was Jakku some nineteen miles southeast, near Niima Dam.

“We want route 95,” Solo said, after they had left the station. “We’re gonna take a look at Jakku.”

“I’m from there,” Rey said. “Adelmo Snoke has a boat on Lake Tuanal. Went water skiing.”

“How did you meet him?”

“What do you mean? He’s Hux’s boss.”

Suddenly, the pieces dropped into place, and Solo knew the reason for the peculiar gnawing in his gut. Adelmo Snoke had sprung him from stir. Not little Huxy, Brendol’s bastard boy, the little flunky who tried to walk like a big man. Solo had been around too long not to spot a phony, even when the phony was his own friend. The friend part, though, was only a word. A short meaningless word. He had lived without a friend too many years to need one now. What he needed more than anything was a bankroll and a new place to live. A big bankroll and a far-off place. The farther the better. Someplace like Chile or Argentina, where there were few Americans, and where the American buck was God. He and Rey’d get a big house and servants and live like a king and queen. That was all he wanted from life now. No more excitement, no more action, no more violence. Just peace and quiet. The good soft life.

“How much can you tell me about this deal?” Solo said, turning on the seat to look at her while she drove. 

“Nothing you don’t already know.”

“How long has Hux been working for Snoke?”

“Geez, long time before I met him. I mean, I guess he’s always worked for Snoke.”

“So this heist is Snoke’s idea?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Hux wouldn’t do nothing that big on his own.”

“You can say that again,” Solo said. “Fifty-fifty split, heh?”

“I don’t follow you.”

“Never mind. Just thinking aloud. Oh, they are cute. Cute sons-of-bitches. Well, there’s not gonna be any split. And there’s not gonna be any Labor Day either.”

Rey glanced at him, her hazel eyes perplexed. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing that can’t keep awhile.”

“Okay, you’re the boss.”

“Fine. Just don’t forget it. I mean don’t forget to keep your mouth shut and don’t forget to forget Hux. When the time comes you’ll know what you have to know. Until then just be a good kid.”

Rey giggled, suddenly unperplexed, happy again with the whole world.


	14. Chapter 14

Don Snoke’s face was livid with rage. “What do you mean you can’t reach him?” he screamed. “I want him out of there. And I want him out of there tonight. Don’t screw around with me, Hux. Understand?”

Armie Hux held the dead phone in his trembling hand, a wild look on his handsome face. His red soft straight hair looked disheveled and soaked with perspiration.

“He’s checked out,” he mumbled. “I don’t understand it. He just packed up and left. But don’t worry, Rey will call me the first chance she gets. I’ll hear from her for sure before the night is out. That’s why I ought to get back to my place. You know, in case she calls. I ought to be there to receive the call.”

Don Snoke took a huge handful of the red wet hair and angrily shook the head from side to side. Hux didn’t resist. He closed his eyes, the fear deep and cold in the pit of his stomach, freezing all his insides. “She better call,” Don Snoke said. “You better go home and pray that she calls. Because I’m telling you right now. If that crazy old boy of yours pulls that job, I’ll kill you dead. And I’ll kill that dumb broad and that dumb old boy. You listen to me good. I’ll kill you an inch at a time. Now, get out of here. Go on, beat it. Blow.”

Hux stood up on weak legs and straightened his jacket, his hand going to his twisted tie. “I — I mean — well — what — what’s going on. I — I — I don’t get it.”

“You stupid punk,” Don Snoke shouted. “You don’t know nothing period. Get out of here.” Don Snoke turned, snapping his fingers at Opan. “Stick with him,” he ordered. “Don’t let him out of your sight. If he tries to pull anything, kill him.”

Opan nodded, his yellowish eyes as inscrutable as ever.

Don Snoke pointed at his wristwatch. “It is ten sharp,” he said. “Hux, you’ve got twenty-four hours. If that broad don’t call in that time, you’re all out of luck. Understand? You’re out of the goddamn game for keeps.”

“Mr. Snoke, please, Mr. Snoke. What have I done? I don’t get it.”

“You’re a jerk,” Don Snoke said. “So get the hell out of here.”

Armie Hux’s mouth opened and closed without uttering a sound. The look on Don Snoke’s face told him all he had to know. He nodded and quickly backed out of the room, his eyes on Snoke’s face until the door closed between them.

Opan stood at his side, no longer the flunky, but now the man in authority. The shift in prestige did not seem to affect him. He waited patiently while Hux fussed with his clothes, then nervously combed his hair.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.

Orson Callan Krennic rolled out of bed and stood by the edge of it, his blue eyes enormously pleased with what they saw.

“You’re some dish,” he said, reaching over to rub her smooth milky thigh. “I’ve been looking for a woman like you a long time. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’ve got more dames than I can handle. But they’re dames. Just plain dames, willing, but that’s all. No finesse, you know. No style.”

Kaydel Ko Connix stifled a yawn and ran her long tapered fingers through her dazzling blonde hair. “Happy, Orson doll-cat-baby?”

“Sure, what do you think? A man doesn’t get this kind of luck every day of the week. Hell, I feel like a million bucks, which incidentally I have a few times over.”

“I like rich men,” she said. “Rich and fat and happy.”

“Who’s fat?” He looked down at his pasty white paunch and gently tapped it. “That’s all muscles,” he said. “Go on, hit it one. You’ll see.”

“Now, don’t feel bad, Orson doll-cat-baby. It’s cute. Come let me pat it. It’s all puffed out and so white with little silver hairs all over it. Poor little thing. It can’t help it if it sticks out like that. It’s not its fault.”

Krennic knelt on the bed, grinning. “Go on and pat it,” he said. “It don’t mind.”

She reached out and softly caressed it. “Now, now,” she said. “Behave. Don’t be naughty.”

“Kid, you’re the greatest,” Krennic said. “How would you like to come to New Alderaan and live in style right on Aldera Avenue? The town is yours. You name it and I’ll buy it for you.”

“Stop talking,” she said. “You just spoiled something precious.”

Krennic chuckled. “Goddamn, you know, I’m taking you whether you like it or not. I need you. I mean that sincerely.”

“Oh, damn,” she said. “You just won’t shut up, will you?”

Krennic stretched out, pinning her down with his arms, his face not two inches away from hers, his chest pressed flatly against her. “What do you want to hang around this town for anyway? It’s a dump, full of creeps and oddballs. New Alderaan’s the town.”

“Sure, Orson doll-cat-baby. I know, it swings.”

“You damn right it swings.”

“It’s the swingingest.”

“Now you’ve got it.”

“I want to be an actress.”

“So. Be an actress in New Alderaan. I’ll fix it up.”

“You can do that?”

“You damn right I could do that. Listen, kid, I’ve got friends. All kinds of friends. I’m the biggest man you’ll ever know. And don’t laugh. I mean that a thousand percent. I can take a man like Adelmo Snoke and break him with a snap of my finger. I’ve broken bigger men.”

She stared up into his eyes, now suddenly hard and cold as a piece of flint. “I believe it,” she said, the laugh gone from her voice. “I won’t laugh at you again.”

“Aw, forget it. Look, kid, I like you. I mean that. You’re my kind of dame. You can have any damn thing you want, without exception.”

“I want to star in a Belleau-a-Lir play.”

“I’ll fix it. You’ve got my word.”

“I think you mean it.”

“You damn right I mean it. Try me and see.”

“I think I will,” she said, slowly weaving her fingers through the two-inch pile of white hair. “Maybe I’m crazy, but I’m going to give it a try. I’ve tried everything else.”

“I’ll make you the toast of Belleau-a-Lir. No goddamn lie.”

“This is crazy,” she said, suddenly laughing. It was a different kind of laugh, deep and throaty, the kind she hadn’t felt in a long time. “Love me,” she said.

”Sure, baby, sure. Any damn thing you want.”


	16. Chapter 16

By noon the next day, Armie Hux was close to the breaking point. He had spent a sleepless night, making dozens of phone calls to Canto Bight, contacting everyone he knew, hoping desperately to get a lead on Solo and Rey. But no one had seen or heard of the couple. It was as if the desert had suddenly opened up and swallowed them. As the hours drained away, Hux became more convinced that Rey had double-crossed him. That she had finked to Solo and that the old boy had gone into hiding. If that was the case then Hux knew he was in plenty of trouble. The old boy was not exactly an amateur at hiding out. And if Rey finked it was plain logic that she wasn’t about to call him up. The only remaining question concerned the robbery itself. Would the old boy give it up? Hux pounded his fist into his forehead head. No, no, no. The old boy would never give it up. What he would do is change the schedule. He would hit it sooner. Hit it hard and fast and vanish into thin air like some goddamn magician. He had to be stopped and stopped right now. What would happen to Armie Hux if he weren’t stopped? Whatever or whoever had made Adelmo Snoke change his mind on the deal was damn important. Important enough to throw him into the biggest sweat of his life. Hux had never seen Snoke so worked up before. He hadn’t thought it possible. Snoke had always been the coolest sonovabitch he had ever known. The one who got the other guys in a sweat. That was the one thing Hux had admired about him. He had been suave and debonair, a calm, easy-living guy who enjoyed having people around him. So what happened when a guy like that panicked? Hux shook his head helplessly. Everybody got hurt. But he didn’t really care about everybody. What he cared about was Armie Hux. And Armie Hux was going to be the first one to get hurt. And it was going to be very bad. He glanced across the room at Tritt Opan, who sat with the opened shiv in his skinny hand, no longer pretending an interest in his fingernails. The comic book was on the floor by his chair, unopened. What chance did he have against Opan? What chance did anyone have against Opan? The creep could flip a shiv fifty feet and hit you dead center. Maybe he could talk to him, offer him some loot. Ridiculous. Who could talk to Opan? He was an animal. All he did was sit and watch you with his yellow eyes. Watching and waiting. Ready in an instant to spring at you and tear you to pieces with his steel claw. 

Hux continued pacing the room, his eyes flitting from Opan to the telephone to his wristwatch. One o’clock! Nine hours and he was a dead man. It had to ring. Rey had to call him. That’s all there was to it. She just had to call. God, how could she do that to him after all he had done for her? The bitch. The no-good dirty filthy thieving bitch. He’d kill her for this. He’d kill her deader than hell.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.

Ben Solo had also spent a sleepless night. His mouth had been at Rey’s nipples when he slid down... _there;_ and Rey was flash-frozen at the summit of sensation, her body zapped by the flick of Ben’s tongue. She lied splayed out on the bed, concentrating, trying to figure out exactly what he was doing, watching his dark head move between her thighs. Every lick, every flick caused an electric surge, a tiny sharp shock, to flash through her body. He loved watching her grab the covers, trying to squirm away as her toes brushed his naked shoulders and he gripped her rump — a miracle; he swore he had seen the Virgin Mary on that ass — and box-lunched her soul away. He didn’t care about getting anything in return. Just the feeling and look on her face, the sound of her squeals, and the way her body responded was worth it. Rey came in cacophonous paroxysms, great guttural exaltations. She was filled with a flooding sensation, as though a seal had broken; her womb, in seizures, squeezed as though expelling Rey herself. Ben decided right there and then that she would never have to ask or demand for this. That was his new credo. It was an honor. He could do it forever if she let him. 

“But I need it,” her hand stroked him slowly. An intricate science, his whole body imprisoned there, a ship in a bottle.

“Alright you sweet little mug, do you love my fat fuck stick?”

“Oh, Geez. Is that supposed to be smooth? That’s not my idea of romance.” 

“Say it, man. Say you love my fat fuck stick.”

“Let it ride.”

He had come up for air with his face wet and shiny from her. “Say it!”

“Okay, okay. Whatever you want, baby. You love my fat fuck stick.”

Unamused, he pressed his thumb into her and she squirmed, her muscles clamping down around his digit, desperately rocking into his hand. Rey cried, “I love your fffuu—”

“My _fat_ fuck stick.”

“I love your _faaaaaat_ fuck stick. Mmm-mm! I can't get enough of it,” she rolled her eyes to heaven, blowed out a dramatic stream of cigarette smoke _á la_ Joan Crawford, and bitchy ground out her cigarette on the nightstand tabletop _á la_ Bette Davis. “Happy?”

“As a clam. You may continue your little show there.”

Nobody was mad at anybody. They were just enjoying a little rough trade. Rey had dropped off around three after he sucked and pounded her into oblivion but Solo had worked on, poring over the detailed map of the Canto Casino. He sat at a wobbly dining table just a few feet from the iron post bed, his dark brooding eyes bloodshot, his throat burned out from countless cigarettes. It was a small drab dreary room and for a moment during the night he had had the eerie feeling that he was back in the Forties, mapping out a job for the mob. Uncle Lando was in the next room jazzing some giggly dame, and Han was stretched out on the floor drunk as a hoot owl. He had glanced at Rey and the brunette hair had reminded him of Leia. It was as if the clock had turned back. As if time had stood still. Twelve years wiped out and Ben Solo was right back where he had started from. He had tried to forget those years while in prison. There was no good in trying to live in the past even when a man had no present or future. The past was dead. And like the dead it had to be buried and forgotten.

Solo sat there, feeling old and rusty, unable to think out the new problem without going back to the past for ideas. For hours he reviewed all the old jobs, searching for a gimmick he could use, something clever enough, something worth two million dollars. Time slowly ebbed and nothing came. No old ideas and no new ones. Just a lousy headache and a bum throat. There had to be a way. There always was. Again Solo reviewed what he knew about the Canto. At least twenty security cops planted at strategic points, alert and sharp, all armed and ready for anything. The cashier’s cage was centrally located and as far as Solo could tell the vault was left open around the clock. The only door leading into the cage had no outside knob and was probably electrically operated. A guy on the inside had to press a button for it to open. So the trick was to get inside the cage, empty the vault of two million bucks, and walk out without becoming a target for twenty hoodlums eager for target practice. It was the kind of job that challenged a man’s full talent. Solo could see now why it had never been cracked. Hell, you’d need an army to cover all those guards. And even then you still couldn’t be sure you had them all. Besides there were too many people floating around. Some stupid jerk was bound to screw up the works. Solo could forget that line of thinking. What he needed was something so clever that one man alone could pull it off.

He lit another cigarette and closed his eyes. One man. Now that was a thought worth exploring. That was the way he had worked after Han was gone. He had cracked eighteen banks in three years, and he had cracked them alone except for Leia, who at the end was as good as any man he’d ever worked with, and a damnsight more dependable. She could drive with the best of them and nose a rod or a chopper with equal ease and skill. Leia had been a rare specimen. Pretty and tough, strong and soft, wild and cool. She had nerves of steel and a mind like a bear trap. Once it snapped on something it never let go, come hell or high water.

As he smoked, Solo wondered about his mother. The judge had bumped her for twenty years and she had laughed in his face. “I’ll do it standing on my big toe,” she told him. The press loved her. They had never seen anyone quite like her. Her caustic antisocial and iconoclastic remarks had made front page news for weeks, convincing her long before she ever came to trial. Solo had sent word but nothing could stop the wagging of her razor sharp tongue. She was having the time of her life. She loved to see her own words in print. Finally, she had a chance to get on the record, say what she had felt and thought all of her life. It was a lousy world, filled with all the cops and all the politicians and it was about time somebody told the lousy truth about it. And that included the lousy fat-gut money bags and the lousy fat mouth shysters who lowered the lousy boom over the heads of the lousy slobs who tried to make a lousy buck on the square. If you wanted to get anywhere in the this lousy world then you had to take the lousy bit in your teeth and pull the lousy wagon over the heads of the lousy bums in the way. “Screw them all but six,” she shouted on the first day of her trial, “and let them be lousy pallbearers.” 

Leia had been quite a dame. Back in a time when men were men, dames were dames and they didn’t pussyfoot around. Maybe she was dead now and maybe she was a lousy old hag running a lousy barrelhouse in some lousy skidrow. Solo didn’t know. He had never heard from her. Not a single line. He had written to her three or four times and finally given up. It wasn’t that she was mad at him or anything that trivial. It was just that Leia had never wasted a minute’s time on anything that could not immediately benefit her. She was practical in the strictest pragmatic sense. She cared nothing about the past or the future. She lived one hundred percent in the present, not day by day but rather minute by minute.

Rey groaned and turned over on her back, her hands crossing over her chest like the hands of a corpse holding prayer beads. Solo approached the bed and looked down at her. No. They didn’t look alike at all. And they didn’t think alike, or feel alike, or love alike. Every man should have someone like Rey at least once in his life. The direct simplicity of her pleasure was an enormous gift. Few women could offer it. 

Solo gently pushed her brunette hair back from her face and lightly lowered himself on the bed. She wore a sheer pink gown, gossamer thin, and extremely low-cut. Solo smiled. She would be happy if she could see herself at that moment. Leia had been soft, too, he thought. But only externally. Internally she had been stuffed with reinforced concrete.

He stood up, pounding his clenched fists against the side of his head. This wasn’t getting him anywhere. He crossed to the bathroom, leaving the door open, his eyes idly perusing the posted rules and regulations of the Sunrise Motel, tacked conveniently on the wall before him. Suddenly, he was staring, his mouth gaping, a prickly sensation racing up a spine. Then it hit him. It was like a thunderbolt. And rooted him to the spot, his hands froze to his hips, his legs spread wide apart, a wide trembling in his kneecaps. It was fantastic. He saw it all in an instant. The whole picture. The entire operation. Every minute detail in place, from beginning to end.

That was the way it had been in the old days. He would think for hours and hours and not come up with a single idea. Then suddenly it would hit him like a flash without a moment’s warning. And he knew it all. It was like magic. Like a gift from God. A supernatural reward for diligent efforts. Solo didn’t know what it was or where it came from. And didn’t care to find out. Having it was satisfaction enough.

A half hour later he was shaved and dressed and Rey was running to keep up with him.

“Geez,” she cried, pressing her lips together, blotting out the lipstick. “Eight o’clock! And I didn’t go to sleep till three.”

“Knock off the gab and move.”

“Why Corellia? Geez, I don’t want to go back there.” Solo grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the door. “Wait,” she bellowed. “My bag. I need my bag.”

Solo waited while she fetched her gargantuan sized purse. He felt the excitement racing through him, making him impatient, eager to be on the move. 

“I’ll drive,” he said when they got out to the car. “Just show me about this shift.”

Rey quickly explained the mechanism and Solo burned rubber tearing out of the motel driveway. Rey settled herself in a little ball on the seat and fired a cigarette. “Want one?” she asked, offering him the lit cigarette. Solo took it without answering, he jaw set in a rigid line.

“Turn on the heater,” he said.

She reached over and pulled the two levers marked heater and fan. “Geez, what’s all the rush anyway? I’m hungry. I didn’t even have time for coffee.”

“We’ll catch some on the way.”

“I’ve got a headache. Geez, I feel all burned out.”

Solo yanked the steering wheel, bringing the car to a squealing stop at the curb. “Okay, get the hell out and get lost.”

She stared at him, her hazel eyes wide and puzzled. “What’s the matter? Are you mad or something?”

“I can’t stand a whining hoodlum, especially in the morning.”

“Geez, was I whining? I’m sorry. Ben, honey, don’t be mad. I’ve just got a lousy headache. I’ll be okay in a minute. I feel better already.”

“No more whining. Hear?”

“I hear. Come on, let’s go. Geez, if you’re such in a hurry you’d get going or something.”

Solo shook his head and started out again. A small smile slowly curved the corners of his strong mouth. They went through Canto Bight, Solo careful of the speed laws, then really opened up when they hit the desert. Here the blacktop strip flattened out, stretching out in a straight line as far as the eye could see. It was like an artist’s perpendicular lines to illustrate a vanishing point. The distance was three hundred miles. And most of it consisted of nothing more than sage bush and rattlers. It was a kind of road an ambitious driver could make record time on without too much risk of being flagged down or smashing into a tree. There were no trees. Just a few lonely yuccas in little clumps, bereft in a vast undulating sea of browns and grays.

Rey sat quietly at his side, smoking with her eyes closed, her silken legs folded under her. Solo used the time to think. There was much to think about. In less than thirty-six hours he would crack the Canto Casino wide open. That was what was so good about the plan. It didn’t take any intricate planning and it didn’t depend on a half-dozen gunsels holding their end of the deal. This was a one-man operation. Just Ben Solo and maybe Rey wheeling the crash car. It was without doubt the wildest, smartest goddamn plan he had ever dreamed up. It couldn’t miss. It was a hundred percent foolproof.

They stopped in D’Qar for a coffee and Danish. Rey smiled sweetly and proudly announced that her headache was gone.

“I feel great,” she said. “It’s nice out on the road early in the morning. The air feels real good. It’s gonna get hot, though, before we hit Corellia. Geez, that desert is murder.”

“So it gets hot,” Solo said, grabbing the check and standing up. “So lots of places get hot. So what?”

“Nothing, honey. I was just talking, that’s all.”

“Well, don’t.”

“Geez, what a grouch.”

Back on the highway, Solo stomped down on the accelerator, the Olds wailing like a jet. Soon he had it all the way down to the floorboard and the speedometer registered nervously between a hundred and a hundred and five. It took all of Solo’s old skill to keep it on the road.

“God’s sake,” Solo said. “The old Falcon was better than this pile of crap. The damn thing feels like it’s gonna blow up any minute.”

“Geez, I’ve never been this fast before. I hope we don’t get a flat or anything.”

Solo chuckled for the first time that morning. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “If we get a blowout on the front all your problems are over. Just like that.” He leaned over and snapped his fingers before her face. “They’ll pick you up with a blotter.”

“You, too.”

“Me, too.”

“Geez, what’s the sense of it? We could get there just as fast at sixty and seventy.”

“You’re real lousy on arithmetic,” Solo said.

“Well, what difference will a few minutes make?”

“Could make all the difference in the world,” he said. “I’m cracking the Canto tomorrow night.”

“Sunday?”

“Yeah, Sunday. I’m not waiting for Labor Day.”

“Geez, what will Hux and Adelmo Snoke say?”

“Whatever it is they won’t be saying it to me,” Solo said, grinning. “You and me are on our own, Hux and Snoke are out.”

“Oh, geez, you can’t do that. That Snoke is real mean. If he ever heard you say a thing like that he’d kill you. You don’t know him. He runs all the rackets in Corellia and Coruscant. Everywhere, I guess. He’s got hundreds of guys working for him. And they all carry guns. I know.”

“Like Hux, heh?”

“Tougher than Hux. Like that Opan and Snap. They’re tough. Listen, I can tell you something. I remember once I was—”

“Never mind,” Solo said. “There’s nothing about those punks you can tell me I don’t already know. I knew more about Snoke at the Prism than the CorSec cops did. What the hell, we’ve got a pipeline out there. Nothing gets done in the underworld without our knowing about it.”

“Just like the movies, heh?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Just like the movies except it’s all different. You can’t know anything about stir without being there and even then there’s no way you can really tell about it. Stir is stir. It’s a world of its own. A jungle, a zoo, a factory, a society. It’s got rules and laws and bylaws and taboos and cults. It’s got everything the outside has but it’s got nothing whatever to do with it. It’s like going back a million years in history. The cons—” He stopped and shook his head in disgust. “Ah, what’s the sense? You wouldn’t understand. Nobody does. Not even ninety percent of the lifers.”

“Geez, that’s interesting.”

“It stinks.”

“Well, yeah, I suppose so. But I still always like prison movies. I saw one once with Humphrey Bogart and geez was he tough. George Raft was in it, too. I saw it on T.V. one night and I stayed up till two a.m. watching it. Geez, my eyes burned for a week. But I didn’t care. I really liked that picture. See, there was these—”

“Oh, my God,” Solo exclaimed slapping the steering wheel. “Don’t you ever run out of gas?”

“Geez, I was just trying to be friendly.”

Solo shook his head. “Now, I understand your problem,” he said. “The only man who’s gonna stick to you, baby, is a deaf-mute.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her face flushed, her eyes fearful.

“I mean you’ve got a big mouth. You’re a nice enough kid but you talk too goddamn much.”

“Well, it don’t mean nothing. I’m just nervous.”

“Yeah, and so is everybody else around you.”

“I’m sorry. See, I talk because I don’t like for things too quiet. I’m afraid maybe you’ll think I’m mad or something. You know, sulking. I wouldn’t want you to think that. After all—”

She went on in a lengthy explanation and Solo gritted his teeth, his eyes staring straight ahead, his body alive to the tense nervous straining of the Old Republic, like a thoroughbred given its head for the first time. Gradually, Rey’s voice became part of the mechanical sound like the whining of the differential and the whirring of the tires. Solo started to think again, his mind visualizing every step of the operation. It was so simple he wanted to laugh. Han Solo had used a slight variation of this caper once and it had gone off without a hitch. The thing Ben had to make sure of was the timing. If he could get that part of it synchronized to split seconds, he was in. Two million bucks without ever raising a sweat.

They arrived in Corellia a few minutes past noon. Solo drove down to Starline Avenue and dropped Rey off in the heart of the Used Car market. 

“Okay, listen carefully. I want you to buy a car, a red car, a fire engine red car. Get it? I don’t want no goddamn sports car or convertible. I want a regular sedan. An Imperial, Old Republic, Millennium, anything in that class. If you can’t find a red one, then buy any color and get it painted. You should be able to get a paint job in a couple hours if you’re willing to foot the freight. Here’s five G’s. I want something good, no heap. And don’t use your real name.”

“Fire engine red? Geez, boy, that’s awful.”

“Don’t let your aesthetic sense carry you away. Buy it, get it painted and get back to Canto Bight. One more thing. Rent a private garage as close to the strip as you can. Just a single. Then grab a cab to the motel. No fooling around. Stay away from the clubs. Go back to the motel and wait for me. Don’t mess it up.”

“Geez, sometimes you sound just like Hux. Always threatening and stuff.”

“Rey, baby, I’m not threatening. It’s just the way I talk.”

He smiled and took her hand, kissing each knuckle. “This is very important. I’m depending on you to carry your end of the load. Don’t let me down.”

And the heat in her belly became a wildfire. “Ah, Ben, honey, you’re sweet. I won’t let you down.” 

She stepped out of the car, waved and blew him a kiss. Solo gave her a small salute and drove off. He saw her in the rearview mirror, standing on the sidewalk, watching him, her hand still waving. She looked terrific in the white linen dress with her brunette hair glowing in the sunlight. He had fought the urge, so elemental, to kiss her again and settled for running his knuckles over her cheek. Somehow, he managed to string a few thoughts together. _If I don’t stop now, we’re going to be at this all night._ If he had kept going, if he pressed her, she wouldn’t be able to stop him. She wouldn’t want to.

Solo’s body was strung so tightly he thought it might snap. He’d been a damned idiot to take it that far. He’d wanted to give her the comfort she so obviously needed, but one thing would have led to another. Or that’s what he’d told himself. In truth, he’d wanted to kiss her and hold her — and now he regretted he hadn’t. She had him the moment he saw her. The moment she smiled his way. His goose was cooked. And he didn’t even know her. Then. But he _did_ know her. She told him her worst secret and he told her his. And she still wanted him. So what was Ben Solo’s secret? Rey was the first woman he ever truly wanted. He never felt that… What? Hunger, maybe? Yeah, the hunger… for a woman until… until he met her. 

He needed to stop his wayward thoughts. But how could he when Rey came apart in his arms, her response burning him up? Her little mewls and whimpers drove him out of his mind, her ice cream-colored nipples drawn into tight sprinkles that begged for his mouth, her hips moving like a dessert on Ferragamo high shoes. He didn’t want to stop — oh, no! He wanted to take her long and hard again like he did that morning. He wanted to make her come again and again and slip and slide around in the juices from her hot wet cunt. He wanted to forget himself inside her.

Solo turned East on Coronet and drove through the lower part of the downtown area. Finally, he stopped at a service station for directions.


	18. Chapter 18

Teedo’s repairs was in the Mexican and Negro section, one block east of Kor Vella Avenue, in the heart of the smog belt. It occupied the ground floor of a four-story brick tenement, and looked exactly like all its neighbors. Old and gray and exhausted. It hovered perilously on the brink of disaster, living out it days in fear of the concrete ball and steam shovel. It had long outlived its usefulness, having served the rich as well as the poor. Now, it only served the poor, the countless variety of colors and smells, all hungry, all lost.

Teedo owned the tenement, the only piece of property he had ever owned in his life. Though skilled in repairs, he had long abandoned repairing it. Faucets dripped, toilets growled and refused to perform, wiring sizzled and lights died, floors sagged and walls creaked and complained at every step. The stairs were in a state of utter chaos and the roof leaked in a hundred places. The smell, a mixture of ageless sweat and putrefied garbage, had been the only thing that had kept it safe from the city building inspector. No one with the least concern for his health would ever attempt a full-scale inspection of the tenement.

Teedo did not mind the smell. His nose had been broken too many times to be sensitive to odors. And besides he had spent ten years in the Prism and was used to every smell known to man. In the old days, Teedo had been a high-priced explosive man, concocting a variety of bombs that had been used from coast to coast. Teedo had learned his trade while serving in the Ordnance Corps during the First World War. And he had learned it well. During the Twenties, he had supplied the Hutt mob with fireworks and later he had freelanced, selling his delicate wares to gangs as well as loners. In recent years, especially since his release from the Prism two years ago, business had been bad. To buttress his income he had taken on a sideline, firearms. 

When Solo entered the shop, Teedo was in the backroom, heating a can of chicken noodle soup on a hotplate. Solo made his way through the clutter of junk, stacked in tottering piles across entire room, creating a maze of blocked passageways.

“Anybody here?” Solo called, completely blocked off on one side of the room.

“Closed for chow,” Teedo answered, sticking his microcephalic head through the partially opened backroom door.

“Teedo?”

“Yeah. That’s me.”

“It’s Ben. Ben Solo.”

Dead silence greeted the announcement. Solo worked his way back from the blockade and started up another passageway. Suddenly, there was a faint sound behind him and he whirled around, his right arm swinging in a vicious arc. The fist stopped two inches from Teedo’s flattened nose.

“Good God, Solo. I thought some bum was conning me. How in the holy hell did you bust out of the Prism?”

Solo smiled down at the small, narrow-shouldered man in the soiled coveralls. “I got a pardon,” he said. “The governor and I are just like this. He’s on the bottom.”

Teedo gave a howl.

Solo looked about the room, shaking his head. “This ain’t exactly the Taj Mahal.”

“The what?”

“Skip it. How you doing?”

“Come si, come sa. A buck here, a dime there. I get by. Hit a long shot last week. Paid twenty-six forty. Had a sawbuck on its nose.”

“Why work?”

“Oh, hell. The goddamn nags. Who knows? It’s the first one I hit this year.”

“Still in the business?”

“You mean,” he stopped and raised his eyebrows. “Yeah. Not much demand nowadays. Just a bunch of punks. They don’t know nothing. Not like the good old days in Hutta. Them were the golden days. Hell, man, I made eighty grand one year. And look at me now.”

“How’d you like to make two grand?”

“You kidding?”

“I need something special and I need it fast.”

“You just name it, pal. Anything. You name it.”

“Anybody else around here?”

“Naw, we’re alone. Go on, try me. You name it.”

“I want some time bombs.”

“Hell, that’s nothing. How many?”

“Hold it. I told you it was special. I want the best. I want the best goddamn clocks you can find. They’ve got to be accurate to the split second. And I don’t want to be loused up, get it?”

“Sure, sure, Ben. I’ll get you the best. For two grand, I’d get you Big Ben.”

“Alright. I want two powerful bombs. Just plain bombs with clocks and I want them as small as you can make them. Not bigger than a one pound candy box. Then I want six smoke bombs, the kind with a wallop, and the kind that burns your eyes out and fries your lungs. I want them all on the clocks with a twelve-hour timing device. I’ll set them when I’m ready. And for God’s sake, label them. I want to know what I’m handling.”

Teedo scratched his small pointed head. “That’s a pretty big order. Two grand, heh? I don’t know. When do you want them?”

“No later than this evening.”

“What! That’s a week’s worth.”

“Stop it. Five grand and that’s it. Not a penny more.”

Teedo grinned. “You’ve got a deal. Anything else on your mind?”

“Yeah, where can I get some firepower?”

“Right here. Hell, man, I’m a regular arsenal. You name it, I’ve got it. Thirty-eight special, forty-five automatic, thirty-two automatic, some foreign jobs, you know, Lugers, Berettas, all kinds.”

Solo fired a cigarette and toyed with the match. “I’ll take the thirty-eight. Got a chopper?”

Teedo’s eyes became sly. “How much you pay for a real good one? The kind you and Han used in the good all days. Perfect condition. Overhauled it myself just a couple weeks ago. Got three drums to go with it and all the ammo you need.”

“How much?” Solo could feel the prickly sensation crawling along his scalp. There was something about a chopper that got through to him sharplike.

“Three grand.”

Solo sneered down at him. “What are you, nuts?”

“Hell, man, them things are real scarce. That’s my price.”

“Let’s see it.”

“Hey, what you think, pal? I don’t keep it here. I’ll have it for you with the rest of the order at nine o’clock sharp. How about a little deposit?”

“Sure,” Solo said. “Here’s the eight grand. I’ll be back and you have it ready. And I don’t want any lousy slipups. We understand each other?”

“Sure, pal. I wouldn’t cross you. I’m your friend. You can trust me. All the big boys trusted me.”

“Yeah, I know,” Solo said. “Just don’t spoil your reputation.” He turned, took three steps and stopped. “Wait. I’ll need a couple of pineapples. The Army type.”

“Sure, sure. I’ll throw them in for good measure. See, pal. I’m no crumb. I’m gonna do a good job for you. You wait and see.”

“And I’ll need a regular police siren and two warning lights, the kind that mounts on the cartop.”

“Two bills, okay?”

Solo peeled the two bills from the thick roll and slapped them in Teedo’s outstretched hand. “Now, you can retire and follow the ponies to Florida.”

“Ben, pal, believe me, I appreciate the business. I know there’s other guys you could hit for this order. Thanks.”

“It’s no favor,” Solo said. “I wanted the best so I came to the best.”

“Well, hell, man. I appreciate that. I’ve always said you were an okay guy.”

“See you at nine.”

“Hey, wait, pal. Like a little nookie? I know a great kid. Spanish through and through. None of that Mexican stuff. This kid—”

Solo stopped him with a wave of his hand. “Save it,” he said, smiling. “Tell me. Is there anything you don’t sell?”

“Sure, man, anything legal. I’m strictly an illegitimate enterprise. Even got a little pot and junk. Man, I’m a regular criminal monopoly.”

“Well, how about trying to get me a couple of legit items? Save me some time.”

“Sure, man, I’ve got a couple of flunkies around somewhere. You name it.”

“I want an MSA breathing apparatus. It’s used by firemen. It’s got the mask and oxygen tank which straps on the back. Must be on sale somewhere in this town. We had them at the Prism. Then get me a turnout and helmet, the regular olive. Size forty-four, hat seven and one-eighth. Got that?”

“Turnout?”

“Raincoat.”

“Oh, sure, man. I get it. I’m getting the drift of this caper.”

“Well, don’t. Just get the stuff and forget it.”

“Don’t worry about me, pal. I’m the original Sphinx.”

“That’s a nice way to be,” Solo said. “See you at nine.”

Back in the car he opened all the windows and drove uptown, taking the Chandrila Freeway to Junari Point where he cut down to Chandrila Boulevard. He cruised around for the better part of an hour, looking at movie marquees and finally settled on a comedy. After parking the Olds behind the theater, he went in, bought a large carton of popcorn and took a seat in the last row. He settled back comfortably in the soft cushions and stared up at the wide Cinemascope screen. A moment later he was laughing, completely engrossed in the movie. Automatically he popped the buttered corn into his mouth.

It was after seven when he left the theater. He walked down to Hanna Street and went into Michael Lyman’s restaurant. He ordered a slab of prime rib, medium rare, a baked potato with sour cream and chives, a green salad with Roquefort cheese dressing and a large bottle of Bordeaux. Afterwards he had pineapple cheesecake and three cups of black coffee. It was the best meal in twelve years.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.
> 
>  
> 
> **Warning for: Mob violence.**

Snap arrived at Hux’s apartment a few minutes after nine. He was in an especially jovial mood. His round fat face beamed and his parted bulletproof haircut shellacked, reflecting light with the intensity of a high polished mirror. He winked at Opan and planted his chubby legs far apart, his massive hands on his thick hips.

“Well, rooster, how’s it goin’?”

Armie Hux stood up by the opened window, his back to the room. There was a cool breeze but it couldn’t compete with the unnatural heat of his face. Perspiration had dripped down, wilting his shirt collar until he had had to loosen his tie. It had been going on for hours now and he was beginning to be able to smell it. It was a strong acrid smell and he despised it. Didn’t he take as many as three and four showers every single day? And each time didn’t he change his underwear? If a guy couldn’t be clean, then what was he? He was a bum, that’s what he was. A dirty stinking bum like Snap and Opan. They both smelled and he hated them for it. They never washed. The crummy bastards. Snoke washed. He always smelled of soap and talcum and his hair was perfumed and his fingernails manicured. That was the way it should be. ‘Cause a man was a man was no excuse to grovel in sweat and dirt. He shook his head angrily. All his life he had been around guys who stunk. Body, underarm, breath, feet. A vile assortment of stinks that had made him ill.

He felt Snap at his back and sniffed loudly. There it was again. That miserable stink. That fat man stink. He wanted to bash him in the face.

“Get away from me,” he said. “You stink.”

Snap guffawed. “One hour, sonny boy. One hour and I’m gonna have the pleasure I’ve been waiting for a long time. And believe me, it’s gonna be a real pleasure, sonny boy.”

Hux heard the words but they didn’t register. He had pushed the whole thing out of his mind. He didn’t even think of the phone call anymore. He didn’t think of anything except smells. Filthy, lousy, vile, evil smells. They were all around him, pressing down on him, smothering him until he wanted to scream and beat his head against the window. 

“I’m surprised,” Snap said, turning to stare at Opan. “Pretty cool. But it’s early yet. Give it another forty, fifty minutes. Then we’ll see how cool he is.”

Hux smiled secretly. His mother had always smelled lovely. A sweet scent of lilac had lingered wherever she passed. She was the one who had taught him the importance of cleanliness and she hadn’t done it by pulling his ears either. That woman had been a saint. Was a saint. If only he had money. Big money. He’d get her canonized. He’d go to Rome and talk to the Pope himself. He’d build a church and call it St. Iris. Then she’d be remembered forever. He frowned and pounded his fist against the window frame. He had hurt her bad before she died. But it was her own fault. She just didn’t understand. It was as if God had protected her. Shielded her eyes from seeing behind the ugly faces that surrounded her all the days of her life. She hadn’t even known her own husband. She had always found excuses for him, for all the crimes he had committed, like he wasn’t responsible or something. But himself. That had been a different story. One little roust for hustling a couple of wino bags and you’d have thought he had spit on God Himself. She cried for weeks, her lips forever trembling in silent prayer, her violet eyes hurt and accusing. Suddenly, prostitution had become a worse crime than robbery and murder. The old man had killed a dozen people if he had killed one. She had to know that. It was in all the papers. Still she never said a word about it.

He shook his head, his hands gripping his hot and wet face. What’s the matter with me? he thought. She was a saint. She never did a single solitary wrong in her whole life. She ministered to the poor and sick and gave of herself and of her love without restraint. At her death hundreds of people came to the funeral. She had ten carloads of flowers.

Armie remembered her when she had been pretty, a tiny porcelain-complexioned and auburn-haired girl with huge bright liquid eyes and the prettiest nose he had ever seen on a woman. She had been lively then, singing old Irish folk songs, happy for no reason at all. But it hadn’t lasted very long. She had grown old overnight. 

He had been away the night she died, shacked up with some stupid ginch, and by the time he got home she had already been embalmed. She hadn’t looked real lying there in that silken casket with her blue veined hands in the position he had seen so often as she knelt by the kitchen table to say her prayer beads. Her skin had looked cold and waxed and her lips as black as her eyelashes. It was like looking at a statue, a statue of a saint. He went home and cried. He drank and he cried and he tried to pray. Kneeling by the kitchen table, but he found no words. He went out and walked all the way to the Jiguuna, stopping in every bar he saw for a drink, telling everyone about his mother being a saint. And nobody believed him. They nodded politely but he could tell in their eyes that they didn’t really believe him. Later, maudlin and discouraged, he walked all the way back to the small apartment and fell dead drunk in his mother's bed.

Suddenly, there was a sharp ringing sound behind him, and the wall crumbled. He spun around, his steel gray eyes frantic, his trembling hands reaching out for the telephone.

“Yes, yes,” he cried. “Is that you, Rey? For God’s sake where have you been? I’ve been waiting here — just waiting—” He started to cry, the sobs viciously tearing at his dry throat.

“It’s Ben. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Oh, Ben. You’ve got to help me. Please. Help me.”

Solo reached out and slowly closed the door to the glass-walled telephone booth. He looked across the dark street and up at the apartment house. “Calm down,” he said. “And tell me what’s wrong.”

“They’re gonna kill me,” Armie screamed.

“Who’s gonna kill you?”

“Snap and Opan. They’re up here right now. You’ve got to stop the heist. The deal is off. Snoke don’t want it no more. Understand? The whole caper is off. Please, Ben, call it off. You’ve got to or they’ll kill me.”

“Nobody’s gonna kill you,” Solo said. “So relax and tell it straight.”

Hux laughed hysterically. “Oh, Ben, I knew you’d help me. Oh, God, am I glad to hear your voice.”

“Why do they want the deal off?” Solo asked.

“I don’t know. It’s just off. That’s all. Look, you call Snoke, I’ll give you his number, and you tell him it’s off. That’ll get me off the hook.”

“It’s not off,” Solo said.

“What!”

“Shut up and listen. I’ll get you off the hook but the deal stands. If you want to you can come in on it with me.”

“But, but, but, Ben. They’ll kill me.”

“Listen! For God’s sake listen and stop bawling. Be a goddamn man. Now you tell them two jokers I’m going to Snoke and I want you there when I talk to him. Understand?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Alright. And now when you get downstairs come out the front door. Keep your ears open and the minute you hear a whistle, drop and I mean drop. Hug the payment, and keep hugging it until I give you the all clear which will be another whistle. Got that straight?”

“Yeah, I think so. You want me at Snoke’s right away. I’ll be right there.”

“Okay,” Solo said. “And keep your head. Don’t panic. Hear?”

“I hear.”

“Give me a couple minutes to get set up before coming out. Good luck.”

Solo dropped the receiver and ran to the Old Republic which was parked only a few feet from the phonebooth, directly across the street from Hux’s apartment house.

He got the key ring out of the ignition and swiftly opened the trunk lid. Teedo’s merchandise was all there, including the Thompson submachine gun. There was already a full drum on it and Solo flipped it up by the stock, his hand automatically pumping the lever, injecting the first shell into the firing chamber. He closed the trunk lid and locked it. Back in the car, he shoved the key into the ignition and started the engine. Then leaning back in the seat, he rested the muzzle of the gun on the windowsill and curled his finger around the trigger. The sensation was indescribable. He gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about the feeling. There was no time for that now. The time was for action. Here he was after twelve years, sitting in a car on a dimly lit residential street, hugging a chopper to his chest. Now, and only now, was he the old Solo. All that other stuff in Coruscant and Canto Bight was just conversation. A prelude to the real action.

The door opened and the three men came out. Hux was in the middle with the two hoodlums about a foot behind him. Solo had a clear unobstructed view. Placing his tongue between his lips, he gave a sharp shrill whistle.

Armie Hux instantly dropped to the sidewalk. Solo grinned faintly, the muscles bulging along his jawline in a huge pulsating knots. The next second his finger gently squeezed the trigger and the choppers spat angrily, the slugs splattering against the front of the building, smashing into the glass door, chipping plaster in heavy chunks.

Snap was catapulted backward, his monstrous hulk lightly skipping on one foot, his arms flailing the night air. Solo gave him an extra burst before turning the gun back on Opan who had been flung into a sitting position by the first blast.

Then suddenly, against instructions and all common sense, Hux jumped up and started to run, coming in between Solo and Opan.

“Get down,” Solo shouted. “Drop.”

But it was too late. Hux seemed to halt in mid air, his arms reaching up, his body twisting around, his legs melting under him. Solo had caught the movement too late to do anything about it. Opan’s wrist had snapped, and there had been a flashing glint of steel before the shiv disappeared into Hux’s back. Solo swore and punched the trigger, pouring a shower of steel jacketed slugs into the writhing, jumping corpse of Opan.

Porch lights and room lights flashed on all the way down the street. Somewhere a woman screamed. Solo still hugged the chopper, unable to take his eyes from the body moving towards him. Hux was crawling across the street, dragging his handsome face against the pavement. Solo clenched his jaw and gently squeezed the trigger. A split second later Armie Hux died in a dirty, vile-smelling gutter.

Solo closed his eyes and placed his hands firmly against his temples. “Somebody forgive me,” he muttered. He wanted to say more, something more pertinent, more important, but he couldn’t think of anything. His mind had become a vacuum.

He turned and placed the chopper on the seat next to him. People were coming out of the apartment houses when he eased the Olds away from the curb and proceeded down the street at a normal rate of speed. The car wheels passed not more than two feet from the mutilated body that had once been his friend. Solo looked straight ahead.

Carefully, he worked his way down to Sullust and the Chandrila Freeway. It was time to return to Canto Bight. There was work to be done. Important work. What had happened back there had happened and nothing he could do would ever change that. 

It was a long lonely ride back through the dark empty desert.


	20. Chapter 20

The stunned expression on Don Snoke’s face had shattered the thin façade of worldly sophistication he had so meticulously cultivated for fifteen years. Suddenly, he was naked, devoid of all pretenses, the old Adelmo Snoke he had always been, with or without the façade. The ignorant, greedy, rat-faced punk who had never left the sewer he had been born in. Clothes, dental work, swank apartment, big cars, flashy dames, good liquor, good food, daily barber, masseur, and manicurist, and the fat bankroll that made it all possible, none of it helped now. It had all been superficial, all a thin veneer masking the real Snoke, the streetfighter, the mugger, the pimp, the dope pusher, the killer.

“It’s Krennic,” he said, grinding his spectacular teeth. “He’s wise. The man knows.”

Grummgar stared at Don Snoke, unaware of the subtle change, of the cracked veneer. “I don’t get it,” he said. “Who the hell uses a chopper nowadays. Hell, I haven’t seen one of them babies in years. And how do you explain Opan’s shiv in the kid’s back. What about that?”

Don Snoke shook his head, “I don’t know. Maybe, he was trying for the enforcer and hit the kid by mistake.”

“Opan? Not him. He never hit nothing by mistake.”

“Well, how the hell would I know?” Don Snoke screamed. “I wasn’t there. Listen, I’m telling you right now. This is Krennic’s work. This is the warning. We’re next. I know it. I can feel it. That hoary-headed stuffed bastard. That’s the way he operates.”

“I don’t know,” Grummgar said. “I don’t want to jump to no conclusion.”

“Yeah, well let me tell you something. I’ve done a little checking today. Know what? Orson Krennic owns forty points in the Canto Casino. How daya like that?”

“I don’t.”

“Tritt, Snap and Hux were the only guys who knew about this operation except you and me and that Solo and Rey. And we can forget about them. They lammed out somewhere. That leaves you and me.”

“Goddamnit,” Grummgar growled. “I wish the hell you’d never thought of that stupid idea”

Don Snoke moved around the desk, stopping in front of Grummgar. “Don’t you give me no trouble,” he said, anger making his voice tremble. “I’ll be a sonofabitch if I’ll take an ounce of it. Understand? Not one goddamn ounce!”

Grummgar frowned. “Don’t flip,” he said. “I’m in this with you up to here.” He slipped his finger across his throat.

“You goddamn right you are, buster. And don’t you ever forget it.”

Grummgar shook his head in disgust. “Okay, Dell, let it lie, man. I’m reading you.”

Don Snoke moved back, nervously rubbing his wet palms together. “Maybe we still have a chance. With those guys dead Krennic can’t prove a damn thing. He can’t just rub me out. I’ll get a hearing before the Council. I’ve got friends in this organization. Important friends who won’t stand for no bastard putting me on the spot. Krennic or no Krennic.”

“Yeah, but have you thought of Solo? What if he pulls the job?”

Don Snoke sat weekly on the sofa and held his head. “Then we’re dead,” he said. “We’re as dead as Snap and Tritt and Hux.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.

Orson Krennic enjoyed a very dry martini. In New Alderaan he knew a dozen places where he could get it made exactly to order. But here in Chandrila and Cloud City the lousy bartenders didn’t know what the hell it was all about. The damn vermouth made him ill to his stomach. It tasted like syrup or something. Maybe the bastards were using molasses. Whatever it was it was sickening.

He leaned across the small table and grimaced at Kaydel Ko Connix, lifting one thick brown eyebrow. “This is a crummy place. They can’t even make a decent martini.”

Kay also leaned forward, her forehead touching his. “I tell you this whole town is crummy. A lousy martini is the smallest of their crimes.”

“You know the kind of martini I like?”

“No. Pray tell me.”

“It’s like a story I heard once. See this guy goes into a bar and orders a very, very dry martini. He’s a little guy, see. Kinda timid. The bartender fixes the drink and the little guy about has an apoplexy. ‘No, no, no,’ he cries, beating his little fists on the bar. ‘I just put a drop in it,’ says the barkeep. ‘Look,’ says the little man. ‘Just put the gin and then lean over the glass and say: Vermouth.’ Well, you can imagine the barkeep. What the hell, you know. He's seen all kinds. So he fixes it. Pours in the gin, drops an olive and brings it to the little fella. He shrugs his shoulders and leans over the glass. What the hell, he thought. Business is business. ‘Vermouth,’ he says. ‘No, no, no,’ cries the little man. ‘Whisper, whisper,’” Krennic slapped the table and broke up laughing. “Well, that’s the way it is with me. I like it very dry.”

“You do have horrible problems,” Kaydel Ko Connix said, shaking her head, the blonde hair bouncing. “I truly feel sorry for you. There oughta be a law.”

“No, no,” Krennic said, still laughing. “There’s enough laws already. Who needs more?”

“Greater challenge,” she said. “The more laws there are the more you have to break. I should think you’d enjoy that.”

The laughter stopped. “Don’t kid on the square,” he said. “I don’t like it.”

“Who’s kidding?”

“Listen, sweetheart, I don’t particularly like the fresh dames. They usually end up saying the wrong thing and get themselves in a whole mess of trouble. I never worry about dames. See, I’ll even talk business in front of them like I did with you yesterday at Snoke’s place. So what. So she knows this and she knows that. Well, let me tell you something. She can’t hurt me. She can get herself killed but she can’t hurt me. That’s the way it is, sweetheart. Play it cool, and don’t ever mention business or laws or nothing like that. Just be a dame and you’ve got nothing to worry about. See, we’ve got a big organization. Everybody knows that. A man in my position is safer than the President of the United States. Just in this room alone there are six bodyguards. And when I leave and go somewhere else they’ll be six there also. But I don’t need them. Nobody would dare touch me. See, like you, for instance. You say something bad about me to the cops. Sixty seconds later I know about it. We’ve got connections. Anybody touches me he’s a dead man. Like that,” he snapped his fingers before her face. “Anybody talks to the cops about me,” and he snapped his fingers again. “He’s just as dead. Get the message, sweetheart?”

For the first time in a long while Kaydel Ko Connix was nearly sober. She had spent the day on a chaise lounge before a marble pool in the jasmine and pine scented hills of Bela Vistal. Maids and butlers had hovered about her, fulfilling her most insignificant desires with alacrity and fawning courtesy. Queen Elizabeth didn’t get better service. The food was fantastic and the view from the hilltop devastating. Krennic joined her in the middle of the afternoon and they had fooled around in the water, and she had worried about the servants until Krennic had assured her they were perfectly safe from prying eyes. Krennic had been in a great mood and she had begun to wonder about him, confusing her first image of the little hard mobster was something that resembled a kind of warm-hearted business tycoon.

Now the picture had changed again. He was the hard little mobster, strutting around in all his vicious glory. A cold, calculating, brutal animal, without a memory or conscience. He could love you one night and murder you in cold blood the next morning without a qualm. It was all part of the business. A business that specialized in evil.

“Okay, okay,” Krennic said, leaning forward again, taking her hand in his. “Don’t get upset. You’re my baby. You’ve got nothing to worry about. I’ll make you the biggest star on Belleau-a-Lir. You’ve got my word on that. So come on. Cheer up.”

Kay slipped her hand out of his grip. “I’ve got a headache,” she said. “I want to go home.”

“Sure, baby, anything you say. We’ll go back to the house and I’ll tuck you in myself.”

“No. I want to go to my own place and I want to go alone.”

“Now, see, you are upset. Hell, look, you’ve got this picture all wrong. Don’t be like that. I’ll tell you what. Let’s fly to Canto Bight. We’ll spend a couple days there and then fly to New Alderaan.”

“I don’t feel up to it,” she said.

“Sure you do. Now, come on, buck up, kid. Everything will be fine. Leave it up to me.”

She nodded. “Alright. But let’s get out of here.”

“That’s the ticket. Give me a second to make a phone call and we’ll drive to Tyrena and be on our way.”

Krennic slid out of the booth and beamed at her. “That’s my baby. Have another drink.”

“Order me a triple rye,” she said. “I think I’m gonna need it.”

“At your service,” he laughed, signaling the waiter.


	22. Chapter 22

When the call came, Don Snoke and Grummgar had reached a stalemate. They had discussed the situation from every angle, over and over again, and each time they arrived at the same hopeless end.

Don Snoke took the call. His eyebrows raised and his blue eyes looked even more stunned than before. 

“Yeah, sure, Orson,” he said, holding the phone as if it were alive and about to bite him. “Tonight? Well, I don’t know. I’ve got a few things going that might need my immediate attention. Can’t it wait for a couple days?”

“No,” Krennic said. “I’ll be in New Alderaan in a couple days. And I want to get this cleared up before I leave.”

“Oh, I see. Well, I don’t know—”

“Listen to me, Dell. I want to get you and Unkar together. I want a man to man meeting and I want you guys to clear up your differences. Now is that asking too much?”

“No, Orson. It’s not. It’s just—”

“No more goddamn excuses. We’re taking off from Tyrena in an hour. I just chartered a plane. Bring Grummgar along.”

“Grummgar?”

“Yeah, you know, Grummgar.”

“Sure, I know. But why him?”

“I want the man to talk to him. He was there with you the last time, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, bring the man along. It’s Westway Airlines. And don’t bring nobody else.”

“I always bring a couple of my boys when I travel. You know.”

“None. You two come alone.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You don’t? Well, then you’re pretty goddamn stupid.”

“Now, wait a—”

“I don’t want to discuss it no further. Just be there.”

“Sorry. We’ll be there.”

“That’s my boy. We’ll have a ball. The kooky blonde is coming along for laughs. Maybe we’ll have us a little fun. See you, boy.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.

Rey was asleep when Solo entered the cabin. He moved silently across the room and brought the whiskey bottle to the wobbly dining table. He drank it straight from the bottle. There was a note on the table and he leaned forward to read it. It was written in a thin childish scrawl, but neat and with every word correctly spelled. It read: “Ben Honey, wake me when you get in. I tried to stay up but I couldn’t make it. I was dead tired. Everything went off as you asked so you have nothing to worry about. I found a nice garage not more than a few blocks from the Canto. I hope you’re happy with me. Love, Rey.”

Solo took another swig and closed his eyes. What else could he have done? He had no choice. The kid was dying anyway. That shiv had gone in all the way, right between the shoulder blades. Solo had seen other guys get it in that exact spot and no one had ever lived to brag about it. All he had done was put the kid out of his misery. Besides he might have lived just long enough to spill to the cops. And what good would that have done? The cops would have been on his tail and the whole operation would have been washed down the drain. He had done the only sensible thing possible under the circumstances. A man did what he could and didn’t cry about what he couldn’t do. It was done and that was all there was to it. Now it was time to think about tomorrow and the job ahead. But first he needed some sleep. He hadn’t slept a wink in forty hours. Tomorrow he would need all the energy he could muster. He stood up and stepped out of his clothes until he stood naked in the middle of the room. He went to the bathroom and then slipped quietly into the double bed. Rey grunted, suddenly shifting position, and began to snore. She was beautiful in her slumber. Solo looked down at her, just pausing a beat to take her in, stroking her hair behind her ear, running his fingers over her cheekbone and down, along the line of her jaw. She shivered subconsciously as his fingers moved lower, circling her nipple. And then he moved gently to kiss her on the neck. Rey’s eyes slowly opened, she looked up at Solo, smiled, positively quivering with excitement, then slowly pulled the sheet aside to reveal her nakedness. Within seconds she was juicy and aching for him. That's the way it was for Rey with Ben Solo: Her legs just magically fell open. It was enough just to wait there, trembling and poised on all fours or however which way he wanted her, anticipating what was to come, to bring about that kind of response in her. He parted her thighs and she closed her eyes at the touch, lewd and lascivious and lovely, at once thankful for the darkness and quite desperate for the light. 

“Did you touch yourself?”

She shook her head, her hands searching for him. Finding his soft hair. “No.” He stopped again and her fingers curled against him. “It's true. I didn't. But…”

He blew softly on the exposed center of her. _“But?”_

She inhaled, the breath ragged and not enough, and though it was he who knelt, it was she who confessed. “But I wanted to.”

He rewarded her honesty with his mouth, consuming her like fire, his tongue stroking in long, slow licks, curling in a slick promise at the hard center of her bliss, and she lifted her hips to meet his remarkable mouth, not caring that the action could be called nothing but wanton. She did want. She needed. She came like a fountain within seconds, the second and third minutes later.

Before she could recover, he had crawled on top of her and slipped inside. They fit so perfectly. After the first thrust he had to hold still, knowing that if he kept moving, if he gave himself up to the exquisite tightness, the heat, he would explode. He wanted her to come at least once more, with him, and he didn't want her to tease him, the way women sometimes did when they hadn't seen their men in weeks instead of hours, and he’d finish before she had a chance to get started. He always took care of her. Sometimes, late at night, when his tongue sleepily worked over the tightened bud of her nipple like a goddamn pacifier, he would just curl around her, holding her close, with his fingers inside her and hers rubbing herself fervently, unable to catch her breath, as she’d look down at him all maternal like, and they took care of her together. Afterwards he’d withdraw his fingers from inside her and place them one by one into his mouth, licking them clean, running his tongue along his lower lip once he was done with them to savor the taste of her. And then he’d take her left hand and suck the ends of her fingers in turn. 

The bedsprings sounded like them crickets used to back home. Rey digged her fingernails into his back, and he bared his teeth, thrusting into her. The flat planes of muscle that made up his chest and stomach shifted and tensed as he moved rhythmically above her. She was hypnotized, watching him hammer out a frantic percussion.

An exhausted Solo pushed himself into her again. And again, and again. His arms were tensed, his biceps strained and protested, and Rey clawed into him there, too. “Come for me, baby,” he rumbled in her ear. “I need to feel it. Soak me. _Please._ I need to feel you all over me.”

She couldn’t resist him. Not with him inside her, looking down at her like she was the most precious gift. Rey breathed hard, writhing and twisting beneath him, and then, suddenly, she bucked and moaned, giving him what he wanted as she began to come. Ben did, too, Rey clinging to him, pulling him into her, rocking her hips to meet his, and he shuddered and growled as his orgasm ripped through him, a lovely union, control momentarily lost, then the world melted away and then…

And then they were both breathless and covered in sweat when he lowered himself on top of her, resting his head on her chest. His fingertips stroked her skin, making patterns, quietly laying in bed. It was a moment before he said anything. “I missed you.”

Rey nodded; snuggled closer to him. Five minutes later Ben Solo was fast asleep.


	24. Chapter 24

Unkar Plutt ran a jolly ship. A former Kashyyyk beer-lord in the old Prohibition days and later a dope pusher, Plutt had miraculously blossomed out as the most popular impresario on the Canto Bight Strip. He had become the “darling” of the movie crowd and the “the great guy” of the sporting set. His fawning adulation around celebrities was well received. To watch him operate among them was to love him. He smiled and he laughed and he hugged and he flattered and he was everywhere, doing everything for everybody.

But to the staff Plutt was a holy terror. He fumed and he fussed and he berated and he threatened and sometimes he assaulted and at other times he maimed. And at still other times he calmly liquidated. But whatever Unkar Plutt did, there was class and style in it. No one, friend or foe, could ever accuse him of being gauche.

Plutt was, in every sense of the word, a fat man. Short and fat and totally bald, his round head was as cleanly peeled as Yul Brynner’s. His cheeks were fat and his nose was fat and the pouches under his eyes were fat and dark and wrinkled. He had fat lips but not fat enough to cover the yellowed false teeth, which seemed bent on self-expression. They clicked and clacked and snapped and slipped and brewed a constant supply of saliva which fizzled away in little bubbles at the corners of his mouth.

Plutt spent very little time in his office or in the apartment directly above the office. Except for the mornings when everybody slept. Plutt could be found somewhere on the premises. Every afternoon he spent exactly two hours at poolside, lavishing drinks and sandwiches on his favorites. And as he laughed and joked, his fat brown eyes never missed a trick. Lifeguards, waiters, busboys, bellhops and personnel within range hopped themselves into exhaustion. They smiled and they bowed and they ran, casting nervous glances in the great impresario’s direction.

The celebrities thought him hilariously funny. They just loved the quaint little anecdotes and the marvelous way he had of talking from either side of his mouth. It was especially marvelous when he told one of his little smutty stories. Then he was a regular Damon Runyon character. A humorous, harmless little man, who had somewhat of a sordid background, but was very polite around ladies. He might tell one of his little outhouse jokes but he never swore, at least, not without profusely apologizing.

Plutt usually attended the early dinner show with a small group — never less than eight, never more than twelve — and more often than not picked up the tab with a grand flourish of his fat hand. Afterwards he circulated about the casino, playing a little craps or roulette with friends, stopping in the lounge for a drink and a couple of stories. Then the early chuckwagon breakfast at two after the midnight show and perhaps a little party in one of the private banquet rooms. There the favored guests were treated to a different kind of show. Unkar chuckled gleefully throughout the performance. A particularly favored guest got a souvenir to take to his room. And it usually walked in with him. Around five, Unkar folded up his tent and slept until nine, waking up refreshed and eager for another jolly day in America’s weirdest playland. 

Plutt did spend some time counting his money and the money of the powerful backers who made it all possible. Unkar owned eighteen points in the Canto, a substantial enough financial holding profitwise, but in substantial powerwise. Unkar Plutt was a front man. To his guests and city and state administrators, he was the sole owner of the establishment, but to a few executives of the First Order, he was strictly a stooge. And as a stooge he made his reports and took his orders without question or complaint.


	25. Chapter 25

Orson Krennic arrived a few minutes past midnight and Unkar Plutt was at the airport with three limousines to meet him. Krennic hugged him affectionately, thumping his shoulder. 

“Unkar, it’s good to see you again. Hey, you know Adelmo Snoke and Grummgar.”

Plutt chuckled and warmly shook hands with the two men like they were long-lost brothers. “And this is my little sweetheart, Kaydel Ko Connix. Next time you hear of this kid she’s gonna be headlining a big Belleau-a-Lir production. So take a good look at her. Maybe, someday she’ll appear here for twenty-five G’s per. Believe me, this kid’s a great talent.”

“My pleasure,” Plutt said, offering his hand. “She’s a looker. I could use her right now. Sing? Dance?”

Kaydel leaned against Krennic for support. The planes of her face felt frozen and her eyes refused to focus. “I’m an actress,” she said. “Didn’t you hear the man?”

“Sorry. My mistake. I guess I’m not listening so good these days.”

“Well, buster, you better listen. Understand?”

Krennic laughed politely and pulled her towards the limousine. “The kid’s a little stoned. She’ll be okay in the morning.”

“Sure, you bet,” Unkar said, waddling after Krennic. “I know what it’s like myself. Don’t drink much these days but I had my fling. I know the score.”

Krennic pushed Kaydel along the backseat and climbed in after. “Ride along in the other car, Unkar. I want to talk to the kid for a minute.”

“Sure, you bet, Orson.” He closed the door and scurried away.

Krennic leaned forward, shoving his head through the opened glass partition. “Flip that rearview mirror out of the way,” he said, “and close the window. I don’t want you listening or watching.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver said.

Krennic smiled and pulled Kaydel against him. “Baby, sweetheart, I’m real hot for you. Come on, kiss me.”

Kaydel opened her glazed eyes, narrowing the lids in an effort to see him. “Is that you, Orson, doll-cat-baby?”

“In the flesh.”

“I’m sick. I think I’m gonna puke.”

“Go on and puke. Just don’t do it on me. Use the floor.”

She dropped forward, her head between her legs, moaning. “Lord,” she mumbled. “I’m so goddamn sick, I’m gonna die.”

“Naw, you’re not. Just puke a little bit. You’ll be okay.”

“I can’t, you bastard.”

“Sure, you can. Stick your finger down your throat.” As he talked to her, his hands caressed her. “See, I’ll hold you.”

“You sonofabitch.”

“Now, now. Don’t be nasty. I’m gonna take care of you. Real good care.”

“Drop dead.”

Krennic gave a loud laugh. “You’re a million laughs,” he said. “Never a dull moment.” He squeezed her. “And luscious, too.”

She began to vomit, groaning loudly, her body stiffening and jerking. Krennic placed his hand on her cold clammy brow and pulled her head back.

“That’s the baby,” he said. “You’ll feel a thousand percent better in a minute.”

Next came the dry heaves, viciously twisting and gnarling her stomach muscles, wringing her dry. She flapped her arms and her legs trembled, and she thought she was going to die. It wasn’t the first time she had been sick from too much liquor. And each time the dry heaves got worse. Someday something would break inside. She didn’t know what, but something vital, and she would bleed to death or suffer something equally horrible and catastrophic. That was the way lushes ended up. In some cheap little hotel room with an empty bottle cradled in their arms. But what difference did it make? Her life was all screwed up, but royally. All that jazz about success was just plain unadulterated crap. There was no such thing. Success in her business was just another illusion. A crappy illusion made up by creeps like Krennic. And all they wanted out of it was a playmate between the sheets.

She stayed folded up, her head between her knees, until they reached the Canto. The floor of the car was a sordid mess and some of the junk had spattered on her legs and shoes. Krennic wiped her face with an expensive linen handkerchief and pulled her back until she wasn’t leaning against the back cushion.

“Feel better, baby?”

“I wanta go to bed.”

“Sure. I’ll have jazzbo here drive you to the rear entrance. That way you won’t be seen by anybody.”

She nodded and pressed her hands against the sides of her head.

Krennic slid the glass partition and tapped the driver. “Take her to my suite,” he said. “And be goddamn sure to mind your manners. Tell the maid to put her to bed and stick with her in case she’s sick again. Then get this car cleaned up. It’s a mess.”

The driver’s head swiveled around. “We just cleaned it.”

“Clean it. The lady was sick. Now get going.” Krennic climbed out and closed the door, signaling the driver to move on.

Six bodyguards lined up on the sidewalk, watching Krennic. Besides them, also watching, were Unkar Plutt, Don Adelmo Snoke and Grummgar.

Krennic smiled at all of them like a kindly uncle pleased with the accomplishments of slightly retarded nephews. He rubbed his beefy hands and started for the entrance. “Let’s go to your office, Unkar. I could use a drink. How about the rest to you guys?”

“Sounds great to me,” Don Snoke said, glancing quickly at Grummgar.

“Me, too,” Grummgar said. “I’m kinda dry.”

“Well, fine. Unkar, you lead the way.”

The bodyguards melted in the crowd so that by the time Krennic arrived at Plutt’s office not one could be seen. The four men went in and Plutt carefully locked the door.

“I don’t want no interruptions,” he said. “I don’t have time for nobody else with my good friend Orson visiting with me. Right, Orson?”

Krennic nodded and seated himself behind Plutt’s desk. “Take seats, gentleman,” he said. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Grummgar and Don Snoke settled on the sofa, one at each end, and Plutt took an easy chair at the side of the desk.

“Let me start this out by telling you how happy I was to see you men shake hands at the airport. It was a heartwarming experience. That to me shows the right spirit. Cooperation for the future. I don’t give a damn about the past. It’s the future I’m interested in.”

Plutt coughed. “Orson, could I say something here at this point?”

“Sure, Unkar. Go ahead.”

“Well, it concerns my good friend, Slowen Lo. That man was like a brother to me. We grew up together, knocked around together and even served time together. I loved him like a brother. I sincerely mean that. If these guys did anything to hurt him, I couldn’t forget that. You can understand how I feel on this matter, can’t you? That’s the kind of thing a man can’t forgive. Slowen was — well, you know.”

“Sure, I know,” Krennic said. “And let me tell you one thing for certain. Whatever happened to Slowen was no doing of Dell here or Grummgar. Their hands are perfectly clean. You can take my word on that. I thoroughly checked it out. This is the straight dope.”

Plutt looked like he was about to cry. “You wouldn’t kid a fella, now would you, Orson?

“Come on, Unkar. I’m giving it to you straight like I said. So don’t make me go over it a dozen times.”

“Well, I’ve got reasons to suspect to them guys. After all, they came in here and got hard. I mean they tried to push me and Slowen around and Slowen wouldn’t go for it. Slowen was always a hothead but a real fine wonderful guy. You had to know him to understand his ways. He didn’t mean nothing by it.”

“I know all about Slowen,” Krennic said. “I don’t want to hear no more about him.”

“Well, what happened to him then? A guy just don’t disappear like that into nowhere.”

“This lousy West Coast,” Krennic snapped, his eyes hardening. “Everybody gives me an argument. You bastards better smarten up. I’m getting goddamn fed up with the backtalk. I’m not used to this kind of crap. Look, when I say something, that’s it. No argument. Nothing. That’s the way things are back East and that’s the way it’s gonna be around here. Otherwise, there’s gonna be a lot of changes. The permanent kind.”

Unkar furtively glanced at Don Snoke, his lips twisting sardonically.

“Am I coming through?” Krennic demanded.

“Sure, Orson, you bet,” Plutt said. “So what’s new?”

“I’ll tell you what’s new. The four of us are gonna have one hell of a good time and become the best of pals. How’s that for a project?”

“Sounds great,” Don Snoke said.

“Sure, you bet,” Plutt said.

“I’m all for that,” Grummgar said.

“Okay, then,” Krennic said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get out of here. I want some real action.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.

The car was a 1959 Imperial and a bright fiery red. It was a V-8 Striker and on the test run it looked like it had the kind of power nobody had ever dared challenge. Solo was very pleased with it. The garage was also a pleasant surprise. There was even a tool chest under a workbench and Solo helped himself to a hand-drill to bore the three holes through the steel top. Rey watched him work with quizzical hazel eyes, but afraid to voice her bewilderment. She chain-smoked, nervously crossing and uncrossing her legs.

Solo worked quickly and skillfully, totally unaware of her frustration. But he still emanated that all-consuming authority that prickled over her skin whenever he was near. It consumed her now, sucking the truths from her and exposing every lascivious thought running through her mind. He looked like a man used to a mechanic’s tools. The whole job took less than an hour.

“I’d like to put a couple of emblems on the doors,” he said, firing a cigarette, examining the two red blinkers and siren on top. “But I need a stencil. I can’t draw worth a damn.”

“What kind of emblems, honey?”

“Fire department,” Solo said, not in the least annoyed by the question.

Rey looked startled. She had expected him to bite her head off. “I see,” she said. “But ain’t that against the law? You know to impersonate a policeman or fireman.”

Solo grinned. “Sometimes, Rey, you’re a riot.”

“Well, I’ve always thought it was.”

“It is,” Solo said. “But so is robbery.”

“Now I get it,” she cried, jumping up. “You’re gonna use this car for the escape. Geez, are you clever. I’ve got to give you a great big kiss for that.” She ran across the room and flung herself at him, her lips smacking his mouth.

Solo slapped her rump. Her sex clenched, lust swarming hot and fast from her groins. Her head spun with so many desires she couldn’t process them. She shifted her feet and bit her lip to keep quiet. “Don’t get frisky,” he said. “I’ve got work to do.”

“What?”

“Well, for one thing I’ve got to wrap up some gifts.”

“Oh, you’re gonna like the nice wrapping paper I got you this morning. I also got very wide ribbon, the kind that makes a real nice bow.”

Solo nodded and replaced the tools. “Well, we’re all set at this end.”

“Tell me, honey. What’s that mask and tank for you got in the front seat? And the raincoat and hat?”

“I joined the force.”

“Now, come on. Tell me.”

“Let’s get out of here. I’ll tell you in good time.”

“Oh, okay.”

Solo locked the garage and they drove back to the cabin in the Old Republic. He hacked it up to the door, and waited until the court was cleared before unloading the eight individual bombs and two hand grenades in a paper sack. He had left the chopper in the trunk of the Imperial and carried the .38 special in his hip pocket. The bombs had all been carefully packed in small cardboard cartons, not much larger than a one-pound candy box as requested.

Rey fixed two highballs while Solo sat at the dining table, studying the physical layout map of the Canto Casino. The important thing was getting the bombs in the right positions. What he needed was total and instantaneous panic, hysterical confusion, and the fewer people hurt the better. But no people were going to be hurt. He had no doubt about that. There would be no killings. Not even an injury if something went wrong. It was tough but it could be done. Finally, he decided to place the two big bombs on the outside, one at each end of the casino. That left the six smoke bombs to be strategically located inside the casino and lobby. One could be checked with the front desk, another with the barkeep in the lounge, a third in the cloakroom, a fourth under a sofa in the lounge, a fifth dropped behind a row of slots at the farthest corner of the room, and the sixth as close to the cashier’s cage as possible — perhaps on the drink stand of one of the crap tables. Once that was accomplished the operation was a cinch.

Solo leaned back in the chair and held his glass up for a toast.

“Success,” he said. “Success and lots of easy money.”

“Geez, I’ll drink to that.”

“You look pale,” Solo said, looking closely at her.

“It’s the jitters, I guess. I’ve got butterflies in my stomach. How about you?”

Solo shook his head. “I feel fine. It’s going to come off. I can feel it.”

“I sure hope so.”

“Don’t worry about it. Everything’s under control.”

“Geez, you’re sure a funny guy. I just can’t figure you out.”

“What’s to figure?”

“Well, most guys I’ve known would be out of their minds by now. A big job like that and all by yourself. Don’t you have any nerves at all?”

“All you need is confidence,” Solo said. “Nerves have nothing to do with it. You got to know what you’re doing. Once you know that, the rest is routine.”

“There, see what I mean? I knew a guy once who held up a liquor store and he just about worried himself to death for hours before he pulled it. He chain-smoked and chewed his nails down to the elbows. Then he went in there and the owner shot him right in the face. Geez, he sure was a hard luck guy.”

“He was a punk,” Solo said. “You make your own luck.”

“Actually, you know, he was a nice kid. He was kinda wild but otherwise he was okay. I liked him.”

Solo grinned. “Is there anyone you didn’t like?”

She thought about that a moment, pursing her lips. “Oh, yeah. I’ve met lots of creeps, I guess. Geez, all of them winos my old woman used to drag in when I was a kid. I didn’t like them.”

Solo stared at his drink. “I never knew my mother,” he said.

“Oh, Geez, that’s too bad. Did she die when you were born?”

“No. She might still be alive for all I know.”

“Did she desert you or something?”

“No. She was home all the time.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “I don’t get it.”

“My old man was a bank robber in Corellia and my old woman was a politician’s daughter and heiress. She worked with us on jobs, cooked, kept house and slept the rest of the time. She didn’t like to talk, and she didn’t like kids no better. We never said a thing worth a damn to each other.”

Rey looked sad. “I’m sorry. Geez, that must’ve been awful.”

There was a faraway look in Solo’s dark brooding eyes.

“I could see it now. Them two sitting in the parlor, my old man playing sabacc and my old woman beating him at it, waiting for him to tip his mitt. They loved hard and fought hard and robbed banks together. And then it was only a visit at a time.”

“What did you do?”

Solo laughed. “I got the hell out of there as quick as I could. I was twelve when I headed out. I rode the rails and tramped the highways. That was 1942 when things were okay everywhere except on the farm. I went to Nal Hutta and Kashyyyk and New Alderaan. But I hated the big cities and came back to the Southwest with my old man’s Briard, Chewie. That’s how I met up with Uncle Luke. He was a farm boy, too. I knew him before they sent him up for his first stretch. He was a lot better man after he came out. He got the hardening he needed in prison. And less than a year he built himself a name as big as Ben Kenobi.”

“I know about him,” Rey said. “I saw the movie on T.V. a couple years ago. His father, the one in black, finked to the fuzz.”

“That’s a lot of bull,” Solo said. “Granddad had nothing to do with it. Luke was holed up in a hotel and the fink, some bum by the name of Sheev Palpatine turned him in. He was the main brain guy and collected the five G’s.”

“Geez, that was a long time ago,” Rey said.

Solo grinned. “Don’t rub it in,” he said. “I feel old enough the way it is.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that, honey.” She was standing behind his chair and leaned forward to place her arms around his neck. “I think you’re just wonderful. Anyway, I love my old grouch. He’s more mature and he treats this girl better. Give me my old grouch anytime. Geez, he knows what it’s all about.” She kissed his neck, her hands caressing his chest.

Solo turned in the chair and pulled her down on his lap. “Now, I can look and work at the same time.”

“Kiss me,” she murmured, pressing her mouth against his lips.

For the first time, Solo kissed her the way she wanted to be kissed.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning for: Violence against a woman. And justice is swift.**

Poe Dameron had the lavender-haired chorine securely against the stucco wall of the building, and from the look on his face he wasn’t about to let go.

“But, sugar,” she insisted, her mouth dripping with Southern honey. “I’m late already. Y’all just have to let little old me go this minute.”

“No, I don’t. I’ve got you and I’m gonna keep you for mah little old self. Now, how you like them old apples?”

“But, sugar, I’m gonna get fired if I don’t go right this is little old minute. The show has started already.”

“No, it hasn’t.” He shook his head and waved a lengthy finger before her nose. “You’re not kidding little old Poe Dameron. I’ve been around a little while, honeybunch. See, take a look-see at this this little old watch. It says two with the little old fat hand and twenty-nine with the little old skinny hand. The show’s been over for a long time.”

“This is a private show, sugar.”

“At this time of night?”

“Why, sure, sugar. Now, you let little old me go this very minute and I promise to come right back after the show.”

Dameron grinned and shook his head. “I’m keeping you, honeybunch. From now on you’re little old Poe’s sweetheart.”

“But, sugar, I won’t be anybody’s sweetheart if I don’t get to this little old party this very minute. Mistah Plutt will cut me up in little pieces and serve me as the tomorrow’s Salsberry steak special.”

Poe pressed harder against her and laughed. “You make my little old mouth water.”

Her raised hands were trapped between her bosom and her stomach. She smiled softly, demurely, batting her long eyelashes, and brought her knee up into his middle. Poe grunted and fell back. She moved quickly but not quickly enough. It was very dark at that end of the building and she stumbled over a small box, dropping to her knees.

Poe swore and roughly jerked her to her feet, slamming her against the wall. “You cheap little whore,” he snarled. “I’m gonna tear you apart.”

“You lousy bastard,” she cried. “You hurt me.”

Poe brayed harshly and hit her. She screamed, her hands wildly clutching herself, her eyes closing. When the next blow came she was only semi-conscious. She reeled about in a sea of flashing lights, collapsing in a small heap at his feet.

“Whore bitch,” he growled, leaning over to examine her. The small box was not more than a foot away from her outstretched hand, “Well, well, what’s this?” Poe asked, quickly scooping it up and leaving the chorine far behind.

“Looks like a little old candy box.” He smiled and straightened his short thick frame.

The time was exactly 2:30 a.m. when the first bomb went off. It blew Poe Dameron’s head clean off his shoulders and deposited it into the center of the Olympic-sized swimming pool some two hundred feet away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Poe! I really do love him, and always write him as Ben’s sibling or comrade. This version of Poe, however, is a publicly beloved character but secretly a nasty piece of work loosely based on Carl Switzer: https://www.neatorama.com/2012/10/16/The-Strange-Death-of-Alfalfa/


	28. Chapter 28

At 2:20 a.m. that morning, Fire Station Number One received an urgent call from an hysterical woman, reporting a raging fire in the hills just above her home. In the next twenty minutes, similar urgent calls were received by every fire station in Canto Bight. By 2:30 there wasn’t an available piece of firefighting equipment left in any station house to answer the automatic fire signal from the Canto Casino.

The second bomb went off exactly ten seconds after the first one. Then in a succession of thunderous explosions, spaced at five-second intervals, every bomb detonated as timed.


	29. Chapter 29

In the circle of distinguished hoodlums gathered in the private banquet room, Orson Krennic was the center of attention. Except for Unkar Plutt, the fourteen guests were either Sicilian or Italian, and each in his own right held the rank of a _capo mafioso_. Three of them were on the lam from a Senate Racket Investigating Committee, and one was from Italy, enjoying a short vacation after smuggling five kilos of pure heroine into the country. Only two held ranks of equal importance to Don Snoke. The others operated on the level of Grummgar — bossing territorial rackets.

Plutt played the impresario role to the hilt. He moved among the various little groups, bowing and smiling and shaking hands, telling a quick joke, patting a well-upholstered shoulder, careful not to intrude on a confidential confab, and just as careful to see that every guest had a drink in one hand and an hors d'oeuvre in the other. His stamina and determination were inexhaustible.

Krennic also smiled and thumped shoulders, but there was a marked difference. He bestowed his precious goodwill with the subtle arrogance of a rich man dispensing a publicized largesse to indigent slum dwellers on Thanksgiving. The smile seemed sincere and the words certainly sounded sincere, but the most sincere weapon in Krennic’s social arsenal was his warm, firm handclasp and prolonged pump-priming armshake. This was accomplished by using both hands, the right for a hand grip and the left for a wrist lock. In this fashion he was in a position to tear an arm right out of its socket if the friendship so dictated. One such hand and arm shake and the recipient was one thousand percent assured that he had found not only a true friend but a truly sincere and warm-hearted human being of rare compassion and deep understanding. That urge was to immediately unburden himself of all doubts and problems. Here was a man who could solve all problems and erase all doubts with a wave of his firm hand. And then there was the dignified glowing white hair and the soft trusting blue eyes. All worthwhile and sincere assets for any man to possess, especially when lurking behind the blue eyes under the white scalp was a brain as nimble as incisive as a rapier.

The social amenities began at 2:00 a.m. and were scheduled to last until 2:30 a.m. when a most special feast would be provided and presented. The provided portion included lobster _á la_ Newburg, fried oysters, baked ham, broiled chicken, prime _rib aus juice_ , orange duck, cherries jubilee, pressed duck, wild rice, seven kinds of potatoes, a half-dozen vegetables, and heaping platters of Italian spaghetti with clam sauce. There was an unlimited choice of wine and liquor. All these goodies were artistically arranged on a long linen-aproned table with ice sculptures and flowers.

The presentation portion contained less variety but more spice. The theatrical offering for that evening was an old favorite entitled: _Lady Windermere’s Fanny_. And it had been written especially for Unkar by a famous playwright while drunk. Unkar thought so much of it that he was seriously thinking of filming it in Technicolor and Cinemascope. He had discussed the project with a director who was noted for his frank uncompromised approach towards sex in his movies. The director was interested but wanted the scenes more subtly developed. Unkar had contacted the writer, passing on the director’s recommendations as tactfully as possible, but the writer had pleaded ignorance, refusing to acknowledge his own creation. Frustrated by this turn of event, Unkar angrily postponed the project, wanting the writer to never again darken his garish threshold.

Orson Krennic occupied the seat on honor at the table. To his left was Unkar Plutt and to his right Don Snoke. Krennic beamed with delight when the first Tahitian beauty entered the room with a large silver tray balanced on her head. She glided gracefully across the floor, barefoot, her right breast and left thigh exposed. Behind her, four gorgeous barefoot girls followed with trays on their heads: left breast and right thigh exposed, both breasts exposed and thighs covered, thighs exposed and breasts covered, and finally everything exposed.

The men laughed and made loud coarse remarks. The girl smiled politely and placed the huge trays of delicious food on the table before them.

Krennic chuckled softly, prodding Unkar with his elbow. “Come on, let’s have a little fun around here.”

“Okay, you’re the boss.”

Krennic gave him a sharp look. “You say it like it’s a joke or something.”

Unkar’s eyes widened in shocked surprise. “Why, no, Orson. I mean it a thousand percent. You are the boss. You bet, I know that.”

“Okay, okay. Let’s get some action.”

At that exact second the first bomb went off. The room shook and two girls dropped their trays.

“What the hell was that?” Krennic cried, staring wild-eyed around the room. “Well, goddamnit, what was it?”

“I don’t know—” Unkar never had a chance to finish the sentence.

The second bomb exploded and the walls of the banquet room came tumbling down in a cloud of dust and smoke. Five-pound chunks of concrete and razor sharp slivers of studding flew like bits of shrapnel. Like a battle-trained Marine, Krennic hit the floor, his arms protectively covering his head. He found himself face-to-face with Don Snoke who had also assumed a similar position. The fear in Don Snoke’s blue eyes far exceeded the menace at hand. He didn’t quite understand it, but the name Solo was the first thing that came to his mind. It had to be Solo. The sonovabitch was blowing up the hotel just so he could heist it. That guy was a nut. A real psycho. Then there was another explosion, another seismic tremor under him, and he buried his head more deeply into his arms. Next to him he could hear Krennic’s endless string of dark curses.


	30. Chapter 30

Ben Solo saw the flash of the first explosion while sitting in the red Imperial which was still in the garage, facing out. He glanced down at his wristwatch and grinned with satisfaction. Exactly on the button. Solo quickly pulled the oxygen tank across his shoulders and buckled the straps. There was a second explosion and a third while Solo adjusted the breathing apparatus over his face and switched on the oxygen. Next came the helmet. When the eighth explosion sounded Solo was already driving out of the garage with red lights blinking and siren wailing. He covered the distance in a little under two minutes.

Solo brought the red car to a screeching stop in front of the main entrance and jumped out of the car. People streamed out of the doors, coughing and spitting, blinded by the white acrid smoke.

Solo roughly fought his way inside, cursing under the mask, realizing that this was something he hadn’t anticipated. He had figured the time from the first explosion to his arrival, nearly three minutes, to be ample for everyone to leave the building. There was enough exits to clear the place in two minutes if everyone was on the ball. Anyway, it was all the time he could allow. Anything more and the fire department might have been there ahead of him. He hadn’t taken the false alarms too seriously. That kind of stunt could easily backfire on a man. 

Once inside he found the casino nearly deserted. At least from what he could see of it in the thick blinding smoke. Three times on his way to the cashier‘s cage he stumbled over a moving body, and each time he went on without looking back. There was much coughing around him, but most of it was weak and dry. Solo could tell they’d be able to make the exits.

The steel door to the cashier‘s cage was closed and locked. Solo peered into the room and couldn’t see anybody. Carefully, he reached into a large side pocket of the turncoat and pulled out a hand grenade. He tried it first to see if it would pass under the window bars, then pulled the pin and rolled it in the direction of the door. He jumped sideways and dropped to the floor. Seconds later the blast ripped the door right out of the wall, flinging it against a crap table. Solo jumped up and ran inside, quickly unbuttoning the turnout. Here, strapped to his waist with one side flapping open, was a hundred-pound burlap sack. As expected the vault doors were open. It took him less than a minute to empty the vault of the neatly stacked rows of bills. Buttoning the coat, Solo retraced his steps to the front exit with the heavy bag bouncing between his legs. 

Outside, hundreds of people had gathered before the entrance, completely surrounding the red Imperial. Solo waved his arms, ordering them to move out, unable to speak with the gas mask over his face. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the whine of a siren approaching. Solo quickened his step, now actually shoving people out of his way. He reached the car door on the driver’s side and yanked it open.

Solo carefully climbed in, reaching under the turnout to support the burlap sack. The engine was still running and he depressed the siren before closing the door. The crowd nervously parted, making an opening for the moving car. A few seconds later he was back on the road and headed towards the garage. In the rear vision mirror, he saw a police car swerve into the driveway and come to a moaning halt before the crowded entrance. Solo removed the helmet and pulled the mask from his face. Next he cut the siren and switched off the warning lights. Then slowly a small smile began to curve the corners of his strong mouth.

Rey was waiting before the opened garage door, and Solo swung the Imperial into the stall, slamming on the brakes, the wheels locking and skidding, the front bumper coming to a full stop barely an inch from the wall. Solo turned off the ignition and left the headlights on. Rey closed the garage door and ran to him.

“Oh, Ben, honey. Did you do it?”

The grin on his face was all the answer she needed.

“Geez, how much did you get?”

“I don’t know yet. But it was plenty. “He quickly unbuckled the oxygen tank and slid out of the car. “Look, wipe the car clean inside while I get out of this outfit. No need making it easy for the cops.”

He removed the turnout and unhooked the heavy sack. “This is it,” he said, holding it up for her inspection. “All full of filthy green stuff. What do you think of that, sweetheart?”

“Terrific. It’s fabulous. Geez, I get goosebumps just thinking about it.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get you mink to keep them warm.”

“Oh, honey. Geez, I just can’t believe it. You know, it’s all done and everything. Wow, are you smart. You’re the smartest man I’ve ever known.”

Solo dropped the turnout inside the car and reached down behind the front seat for the chopper. “Let’s blow this place,” he said. “I don’t want to run into any roadblocks.”

The Old Republic was parked behind the garage. It was pitch black and Solo had to light a match to find the keyhole for the trunk. Rey watched him as he placed the sack inside and closed the lid.

“Aren’t you going to lock it?”

“No. If I’ve got to go for that bag in a hurry I don’t want nothing standing in my way. Here, you hold this baby on your lap.”

Rey stared at the chopper. “Is it loaded?”

“What do you think?”

“Geez, what if it goes off or something?”

“Get in,” Solo said, pushing her towards the car door. “Now, just hold it on the seat next to you. The safety’s on. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Solo dropped the chopper on the seat next to her and ran around the car, sliding in behind the steering wheel. “We’re off,” he said. “Just keep your fingers crossed, baby.”

“Where are we going?”

“Arizona,” Solo said, easing the car out of the narrow space and over the curb.

“I thought we were going to Corellia.”

“We are, later. It’s about sixty miles to the California border and only twenty-five to Arizona. We got to get out of this state before the roadblocks are set up. My guess is that it will take them at least a half-hour before they find out what happened and another half-hour before they get things organized.”

“Why, look,” Rey shouted as they passed the Canto Casino. “The place is on fire. Look at that smoke. My God! What happened?”

“That’s what I mean,” Solo said. “By the time they get that smoke cleared out we’ll be long gone.”

“Geez, did anybody get hurt?”

“Naw. Relax. It’s nothing serious.”

“Boy, it sure looks serious.”

Solo grinned. It was serious, alright. Serious enough to give a few punks a headache. A two-million dollar headache.


	31. Chapter 31

Sheriff Caluan Ematt tilted his white sombrero back on his large head and hitched up his gun belt. “Goddamnedest job I ever did see,” he said, moving back from the empty vault. “Picked it clean as a whistle. Never saw nothing like it in my thirty-seven years on the force. How much did you say there was in there again?”

Unkar Plutt’s fat face looked pale and drawn. “I told you. One million, eight hundred and forty-six thousand and some odd dollars.”

The sheriff nodded gravely. “That’s a lot of money. Yes, sir, that’s a mighty large pile. He took out a pad and pencil. “Let me write that down. The newsboys will want to know the exact amount. Might as well be accurate.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Unkar demand. “You gotta do something quick.”

Sheriff Ematt glanced at his wristwatch and smiled. “Everything is being done right now,” he said. Ten minutes after we heard about it we had the city boxed in. Roadblocks, railroad, airport, bus depot. Another ten minutes and we’ll have roadblocks across every exit out of this state.”

“Great God,” Plutt wailed. “It’s nearly 3:30 right now. Those bastards have an hour headstart.”

The Sheriff’s brown eyes hardened. “Don’t blame me,” he said, again glancing at his watch. “By my watch it’s only been fifteen minutes since we found out about it. We can’t solve a crime until we know about it, now can we? But don’t fret. We’ll get ‘em. My guess is those boys are still in town. They wouldn’t risk getting caught at a roadblock. As far as they knew, we were right on top of them. Relax, we’ll have ‘em by morning. That’s too big a bundle for anybody to try to smuggle out of this town. In fact, I’d be willing to bet this job will set a new record. Biggest single haul in history. Now, you wait and see if I’m not correct on that. Bigger even than the Brinks job in Bothawui. That was just a little over a million if I remember correctly. Big enough, of course, but this one’s got it licked a mile.”

Plutt banged the sides of his head with clenched fists. “I’ve got to get out of here,” he moaned. “You’re killing me.” He turned and staggered through the shattered door frame, walking over the steel door which had been pulled away from the crap table. Everything around him was in ruin and stinking of smoke. He wanted to lie down somewhere and die. His beautiful, lovely, marvelous showplace reduced to a pile of stinking rubbish.

“Mr. Plutt, hold it a minute.”

Plutt turned and saw the fire chief hurrying towards him. “I’ve got the final figures on the casualty list,” he said.

Plutt held his aching head. “Yes.”

“One dead, none seriously injured, over fifty overcome by smoke.”

Plutt nodded dully. “Want some real news?” he said. “Go talk to the sheriff.”

“What do you mean?”

“Money,” he said. “All the money in the world.” He turned and continued on his way towards the rear exit.

The fire chief shook his head sadly. “A man is dead and you’re worried about money.”

Plutt stopped and turned slowly. “Not just money,” he said. “But one million, eight hundred and forty-six thousand American dollars. Know how much that is, Mr. Fire Chief?”

“I don’t care how much it is,” the fire chief said. “Money can always be replaced. You can’t replace a human life.”

“You can’t replace any kind of life,” Plutt said. “Not even a bug’s. So I should worry about a character I’ve never heard of and wouldn’t care if I had.”

The fire chief’s face was turning as red as his Imperial. “Yeah, well, how about your own life? Is it more important than that money?”

Plutt shrugged. “Who knows? That’s something I’m gonna find out real soon now.”


	32. Chapter 32

Grummgar sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the pink pastel wall. There was absolutely no doubt about it in his mind. Solo had pulled the job. And sooner or later Orson Krennic would know about it, all about it, and that would be it. Grummgar and Dell Snoke would wake up deader than hell one morning. There was no way out of a deal like that. Nobody crossed the First Order and lived to talk about it. It was a one-way ticket to hell. 

Grummgar stood up and began pacing the room. There had to be a way out. Somewhere there was an angle. Some way in which he could save his neck. After all, it had been Snoke’s idea. Grummgar had just gone along for the ride. How the hell was he supposed to know about Krennic’s interest. Forty goddamn points. God, that was incredible. Why hadn’t Snoke known about it. Or maybe he had known about it all along and had played Grummgar for a sucker. Maybe the guy was nuts enough to try to screw Krennic. How dumb could a sonovabitch be and still live?

Suddenly, Grummgar spun around and ran out of the bedroom, across the living room, and out into the hall. Krennic’s suite was on the next floor up, and Grummgar took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. He took them three at a time, his thick powerful legs trembling under him. Maybe, this was the nuttiest of all, but he had to chance it. It was one in a million but the only one he had left.

Kaydel Ko Connix opened the door after he had rapped for a good two minutes. She stared angrily at him, her eyes heavy with sleep. “What’s the matter with you?” she said, moving out of the way as he barreled into the room, puffing and gasping for breath. “It’s four o’clock in the morning.”

“I’ve got to see Orson right away.”

“He’s not here.”

“He’s not? What do you mean, he’s not?”

She folded her arms and curved her lower lip. “Well, I suppose I mean he’s not in this here apartment at this here moment. What else could I possibly mean?”

“You cheap little whore,” Grummgar said. “Some day, I’m gonna break you up good.”

She smiled. “I don’t think Orson would appreciate that.”

“Don’t kid yourself, whore. The honeymoon ain’t gonna last forever. You’ll be back on the market. Maybe a lot goddamn sooner than you think.”

“What else’s on your fat head?”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t have the faintest idea.”

“Well, I’m gonna wait for him.”

“Make yourself comfortable. Me, I’m going back to bed.”

“Who needs you?” he said, starting to pace the room.

“If you want a drink there’s some in the cabinet by the fireplace.”

Grummgar didn’t hear her. His mind was full of words; fast words, loud words, all frightened words. Words that could make the difference between life and death.


	33. Chapter 33

Orson Krennic talked forty-two minutes long distance to New Alderaan City. He talked from a phone booth at the Starkiller Hotel. Riding back to the Canto Casino in one of the limousines with two bodyguards, he went over the conversation in his mind, pleased that Maul had approved all his suggestions, even to sending down the number one death squad. Three enforcers with perfect records, each one batting a thousand percent. Right now, of course, at this very moment, he had no idea what he would use them for since he didn’t have one tiny bit of information on the job. But he’d get something and he would piece it together and when he got home he’d know all he had to know. And then the boys would go to work and somebody would be goddamn awful dead very sudden like.

At the Canto, ambulances, fire trucks, and police cars still jammed the front entrance. By now thousands of people had gathered in the parking lot, their morbid curiosity stronger than their urge to gamble or their need for sleep.

“Look at that,” one of the bodyguards said. “And not even a lousy slot machine around.”

“Very funny,” the other one said.

“Shut up,” Krennic said, again reminded of the amount of the robbery. What the hell was forty percent of one million eight hundred and forty-six thousand dollars? He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about it. And actually he didn’t have to think about it. Because, after all, it wasn’t as if the money was permanently lost. At least, not for very goddamn long. After a couple hours’ sleep he’d figure out something. He’d get full reports from the sheriff and fire chief and then he would look it over himself. Something was bound to show. After all, how many hoods were there in the country capable of pulling this kind of a heist. You could count them on the fingers of one hand. Well, maybe two hands. But not much more than that. This was no amateur night crap. These boys knew what they were doing every inch of the way. They had cracked the toughest box in the country. An hour before the job, Krennic would have laid a thousand to one odds that it couldn’t be done. Now he would lay a thousand to one that they’d never get away with it. And this time he would win the bet.

Grummgar had worked the sweat into a lather by the time Krennic entered the room. Krennic’s eyebrows moved imperceptibly when he saw Grummgar. He turned to the bodyguard and wiggled his thumb. “You guys wait in the other room,” he said. “Grum and I are gonna have a little private chat.”

Grummgar could barely wait for the door to close behind them before speaking out. “Orson, I’ve got something to tell you but you’ve got to promise to hear me out. I’m all screwed up now, my thinking is all jumbled up, feels like I’m losing my marbles.”

“Sure, Grum. Here, let’s have a drink and you try to relax a little. No need for you to get all worked up like that. It will work out.”

“Hell, I hope so, Orson. Believe me, I never knew a thing about it. All Snoke told me was that it was operated by Jews. I’ll tell you right now, if I had known the real dope I would have called you right up and laid it out on the line. Look, I’ve been with the First Order now over thirty years and I’ve never done nothing to cross it. I’m a thousand percent square and I think you know that, Orson. Don’t you?”

“Sure, Grum. Here, drink it down. Make you feel better. Then sit down and we’ll talk the whole thing over nice and calm. Okay?”

Grummgar took a large gulp of the drink and tried to nod at the same time. Liquor dribbled down his chin and on his shirt and tie.

“I’m gonna give you the whole story, Orson. Believe me, I won’t hold nothing back.”

“Sure, Grum, sure, fella. I know you won’t.”

“Thanks, Orson. I appreciate that. See, it was like this…”


	34. Chapter 34

By the time Solo reached the Coast Highway in Corellia he had been behind the wheel nearly fourteen hours. Except for a brief stop for gas and coffee, it had been fourteen hours of uninterrupted driving over some of the worst roads in Arizona. They had crossed into Arizona shortly after three o’clock that morning, a good forty minutes before the roadblocks had been installed. From there Solo had pursued a circuitous route across barren wastelands, avoiding all large cities, large or small, and stopping only at roadside stands and service stations.The route took him across the central part of the state, all the way south to the Mexican border, where he entered California through Yavin. There was a roadblock at Yavin and for a wild moment Solo thought of crashing through at ninety miles an hour with the chopper blazing. And then he remembered the good old days and the sweat turned cold on his face. Minutes later he stopped before the uniformed guard, the chopper tucked securely under his legs, the .38 on the seat beside his left hand. 

The guard slowly approached the car, the sun glinting off the steel rim of his glasses. “Mornin’,” he said, glancing into the car, his eyes instantly narrowing at the sight of the sleeping woman next to Solo. There seemed to be an endless span of sheer nylon sticking out from under that tight skirt.

“Anythin’ wrong with the lady?” he asked, his eyes still appraising the legs.

“Just tired,” Solo said. “You looking for something?”

The question seemed to embarrass the guard. He quickly straightened up and smiled sheepishly at Solo. “Got anything to declare?” he asked.

“What?”

“Got any fruit or plants?”

“No,” Solo said. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

The guard nodded. “Welcome to California,” he said, and quickly stepped back, motioning the car behind Solo to move up.

“Thanks,” Solo said. “Thanks a million.”

Rey had slept through it all. And she was asleep again, her body all curled up on the front seat, her head resting on the armrest, her stocking feet pressed against Solo’s thigh. She had even snored during the night, but Solo hadn’t stopped her. He liked the sound. It had been comforting in the stolid darkness of the desert. While she slept, he had taken the chopper from her limp hands and placed it on the floor under his legs. She had awakened from time to time, rubbed her eyes and stretched, smiled warmly, then shifting her position slightly had gone off to sleep again.

The long ride had given Solo plenty of time to think. On the whole, he was pleased with the job. It was the best and smartest he had ever pulled. After twelve years behind the wall, it was good to know that a man still had some steel left in his spine. Most cons were washed up after a long stretch. Still, there was one major flaw in the job. Too many people knew about it. Adelmo Snoke would be out to get him. You couldn’t minimize a thing like that. The man had connections. But he wouldn’t go to the cops. He’d want Solo all to himself. Then there was Teedo. One look at the morning paper would tell him all he had to know. Teedo was an old con from the old school. That was why Solo had gone to him. A guy like Teedo very seldom ever finked. But _seldom_ was not _never_ , and as long as a doubt existed, Solo was in danger. Something would have to be done about Teedo.

The big problem now was getting out of the country. Solo needed more than a phony passport. What he needed was a private plane. Carrying that kind of money around he couldn’t fool with Customs officials. Solo didn’t know about such things and he wasn’t about to learn from experience. As far as he knew, they always went through your baggage, and that bundle in the car trunk was a little too big for a keister plant.

Solo had contacts in his own underworld which were quite different from Snoke’s. His underworld was made up of loners, heisters, conmen, arsonists, specialists in all fields of individual crimes outside of the organized rackets. The men Solo knew were too much of individualists to ever knuckle down under gang rules. They were like Solo himself. Hit hard and run fast. Keep moving and keep hitting. If fewer guys on the deal the greater the chance to get away with it. Most of them carried a woman along. That was also safer than playing the field. Get a good woman and treat her right and she’d stick by you to the bitter end. Women were a lot more loyal than men. Contrary to popular belief, very few women ever finked. And the few who did usually had a pretty damn solid reason for it. Of course, there were all kinds of women. Punk kids usually picked up punk dames who not only finked to the cops but also finked to other punk kids. For one thing, she had to accept you for what you were, which included the things you did. A woman with scruples was dangerous. What a man needed was a woman like Han’s Leia. Someone with guts and the right attitude towards life and society. She had to know that it was a dog eat dog world, a jungle where only the toughest animals survived. You paid your money and you took your chances. And you didn’t stop to worry about any slob who got hurt along the way. That was his tough luck. Like at the Canto. Poe Dameron had been killed by the blasts. But then again dumb pricks like Dameron were always getting themselves killed by something. The world should be thanking him for the service. Because innocents died every day and it was the pricks who lived to old age. Defective planes crashed by the dozens, killing thousands. Fire traps burned and thousands more were killed. Automobiles, trains, buses, motorcycles, bicycles, roller-skates, bathtubs, wishbones, canned food, cellar stairs, drunken doctors, and pious medicine men. All legal forms of execution. Who was to say that his way was any worse?

Rey came awake with a start. She sat up, her sleep laden hazel eyes blinking. “Where are we?” she yawned, stretching. “Vreni Island!” she cried. “Hey, honey, are you gonna get a place here?”

“If I can find one,” Solo said.

“Geez, I’d sure like that. I just adore the ocean. Don’t you?”

Solo winced. “After twelve years at The Prism, I hate it.”

“Oh, yeah, I’d forgotten about that. But, Geez, it’s nice out here. Especially now with all that heat and everything. I hope we find a place. I’ll help you look.” She sat up straight and quickly slipped on her shoes. “I must have slept for hours. I’ll bet you’re tired.”

“I feel just fine,” Solo said. “What I want now is a nice bottle of Whyren’s Reserve and maybe a little piece of something I can tear off you.”

Rey giggled. “That reminds me,” she said. “Wait till Hux reads about this in the paper. Boy, will he flip.”

“Hux won’t be reading about it,” he said. “He’s dead.”

“He’s what?” Rey gasped, her hands going to her mouth. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Solo said. “Him and those two characters, Snap and Opan, got it in front of Hux’s apartment Saturday night. It was in the paper yesterday.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me? Geez, I’ll bet Adelmo Snoke did it. Maybe he got mad ‘cause we crossed them up.”

“They crossed me up,” Solo said. “Don’t get confused.”

“Well, you know what I mean. I never could figure that deal out. Geez, that was a real corkscrew.” She stopped and placed her hand gently on his arm. “I’m sorry, Ben honey. Poor Hux. After all, he was your friend.”

“Yes,” Solo said. “He was my friend.”

“That horrible Adelmo Snoke. Geez, I swear, that man is a real bug. I’d sure like to give him something to remember me by.”

“Don’t worry about Snoke. We’ve already given him something to remember us by. He’s not about to forget us.”

“There’s a place,” she cried, pointing to a small gray cottage suspended on stilts to the very edge of the water. “See, there’s a _for rent_ sign.”

Solo slowed down and when the traffic permitted, made a U-turn, bringing the Old Republic to a stop directly in front of the cottage.

“The front door’s open,” Rey said. “Want me to go in and see?”

“Okay. I don’t care what it looks like, take it. Don’t fuss about the freight, either.”

Solo sat with his legs over the chopper, wondering how to cover it. He reached down with his hands, keeping his head up, and slowly, carefully, dismantled the gun, sliding each piece under the car seat.

When Rey came running out, he knew she had it. “It’s lovely,” she cried. “The owner is cleaning it up right now. Should be ready in an hour.”

“Okay. Did you pay for it?”

“Sure. I paid for a month out of the money I had left on that five thousand you gave me Saturday. It was only two and a half bills.”

“Get the key,” Solo said. “And tell him we’re going out to eat.”

She nodded happily and ran back inside the cottage. A few seconds later she was out again and they were driving down the Coast Highway.

“There are lots of nice eating places along here,” she said.

“There’s no time for that now,” Solo said. “I want you to buy a car.”

“Again?”

“Yah. We’ve got to ditch this one before we get nabbed for heisting it. Where’s a good place to buy one around here?”

“Scarif, I guess. It’s the closest.”

“Fine,” Solo said. “After we’ll get a good feed and then take care of that other little business I mentioned.”

Rey smiled blissfully, leaning against him to hug his arm. “Geez, Solo, you positively jet me! Gone, gone, gone! Jet, jet, jet!” She closed her eyes, her brunette hair gently blowing against his cheek. “Hey, did you hear that? I called you Solo. I like it. From now on you’re Solo. No more Ben or honey. Just Solo.”


	35. Chapter 35

Adelmo Snoke had been locked in his room for sixteen hours. And in that period of time he hadn’t thought of anything but Solo. Well, he had thought of Krennic but only in conjunction with Solo. The two names had become so inextricably woven in his mind that the thought of one instantly summoned the other. The robbery had been a fiendish nightmare. Apart from the horrible bombs going off (not knowing where the next one was coming from) there had been the equally horrible experience of lying on the floor with his nose not a foot away from Krennic’s nose. That had been as bad, if not worse, than the bombs. For at any moment he had expected Krennic to reach out and kill him. Why Krennic hadn’t done it was beyond his comprehension. After all, Krennic knew of the plan. Knew of Snoke’s implication. Hadn’t he killed Armie Hux? So what was he waiting for? The sonovabitch was just torturing him. Making him sweat blood. That was the kind of bastard he was. Or maybe he was waiting for word from New Alderaan. After all, Krennic was not the head of the First Order. Killing a man of Snoke’s importance took an okay from the very top. Well, by God, he had friends in this organization of his own. Plenty of friends. Big powerful friends. If need be he’d call Bane and Plagueis in Apatros. They’d fix Krennic’s wagon. Nobody screwed around with Bane and Plagueis. When those guys said something, brother, you had better listen goddamn sharp. They weren’t about to say it twice. Plagueis especially had been like a father to him. No. More like a brother. He had always treated him like a man and they had nice talks together and eaten plenty of spaghetti. Dryden Vos had operated that terrific spaghetti house in the old days. All the big guys had eaten there. Politicians, judges, gold-braided cops, D.A.’s. Everybody who was anybody. And Adelmo Snoke had known them all. So what was all this heat about? Who the hell did that white-headed sonofabitch think he was anyway?

Snoke hurried across the room and snapped up the phone. He held it a moment, his thin lips parting, his blue eyes nervously impatient.

“Come on, somebody answer this goddamn phone.” He pounded the cradlebar but there was not even a click in the receiver. “What the hell’s going on here? Somebody answer me. I want long distance. I’ve got to place an urgent call to Apatros, Italy.” There was just dead silence. Angrily, he slammed the receiver down and crossed the room to the door. He’d go down there and give that slut of a telephone operator an earful she wouldn’t forget in a hurry. The instant his fingers touched the night chain, his body froze in fear. He jumped back, positive he had heard a noise on the other side of the door. The bastards were out there waiting for him. The minute he opened that door he was a dead man. They had cut his phone line and now they were gonna starve him out. “Solo,” he shouted. “You bastard. I’ll kill you for this. I’ll tear your heart out. I’ll murder you.”

Goddamn! He didn’t even have a rod. He hadn’t carried one in years. A man in his position couldn’t afford to. Couldn’t get picked up for packing a rod. God, how stupid could you get. Well, okay, those bastards would have to break the door down and that was a noisy proposition. Maybe he could open the window and call for help. Why not? There was plenty of solid citizens around this dump. They’d call the cops. He laughed harshly. The cops. What a laugh that was. There were thirty, forty cops right here in the goddamn building. All on Krennic’s payroll. What a laugh that was. Man, that was rich. He looked out the window, his eyes quickly scanning the patio and pool area. There wasn’t a soul anywhere. Maybe everybody had moved out. The dump was a wreck. Hell, hadn’t he seen that man’s head being fished out of the pool earlier that morning. That had been something, alright. Broke the lousy monotony. 

Suddenly, there was a loud rapping on the door. Don Snoke’s heart stopped beating, the noise rooting him to the floor. Another rap and Don Snoke came unglued. 

“Who is it?” he shouted. 

“It’s me, Dell. Grummgar.”

Snoke hurried to the door. “Are you alone?” 

“Yeah, yeah. For God’s sake, open the door, willya?”

Snoke slipped the chain and twisted the key in the lock. “Get in here,” he said. “Hurry.”

Grummgar quickly slipped inside and Snoke closed the door, locking it again.

“What the hell you holed up in here for?” Grummgar said, looking about the room.

“What are you, crazy or something?” Snoke demanded. “Don’t you know that business last night was Solo? Are you stupid all of a sudden?”

“So who knows?”

“Krennic knows, that’s who. You forget about Hux. Look, I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to get back to Corellia and line up some of my boys. And I’ve got to call Bane and Plagueis. They’ll fix it up for me. How was I supposed to know he owned forty points? What am I, a mind reader?”

“Sure, that’s the ticket,” Grummgar said. “Let’s blow this joint. I’ve got a car outside. We’ll be in Corellia in four, five hours and then we’ll get this thing straightened out.”

Don Snoke held his massive chin with both hands. “You sure it’s clear out there?”

“Dell, for Pete’s sake. Snap out of it. You’ve got nothing to worry about. I saw Krennic just an hour ago and he looked all screwed up. He’s got no time to worry about you. This bit cost him plenty.”

Once Don Snoke made the decision he moved quickly. He grabbed his coat off a chair and half-ran to the door. “Okay, let’s go.”

“That’s the ticket,” Grummgar said. “Now you’re talking.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning for:** Mob violence.

The car was a brand-new black Kalevalan, the gold plated First Light extra deluxe fourteen grand poshy type model, fit for a shah with fifty wives and a thousand oil wells, or fit for an American prince of crime with a large territory and a dozen profitable rackets. And in every sense of the word fit for the honorable funeral of either one of them.

Don Snoke’s small nose quivered. “What you do? Just buy this heap?”

“No. It’s a rental.”

“Some rental.”

“I thought you would like it.”

“Like it? Who gives a—” He stopped and tapped Grummgar on the arm. “It’s fine, Grum. You know I’ve got good taste. Like nice things. Thanks. I appreciate it. This is the kind of action I go for. Let’s see what the bastard will do.”

“I’ll bet it does a hundred and thirty.”

“A grand says it don’t.”

“You’re on,” Grummgar said. “Lay it on me, buddy.”

Don Snoke dug into his inside pocket and extracted a thousand dollar bill from a thick, bulging alligator wallet. “You’re on, pal.”

“We’ll have to wait a while. Too much traffic around here.”

“Chicken.”

“Don’t worry, Dell. I’ll give you a thrill before this is over. Hold on for a while.”

About a half-hour out of Canto Bight, Grummgar suddenly twisted the wheel and shot out across the desert while doing close to seventy. 

“What the hell,” Snoke cried. “What’s wrong?”

Grummgar switched off the headlights without slowing down the car. The Kalevy bounced over the rough terrain, the tires slipping and skating on the soft sand.

“We’re being tailed,” Grummgar said. “I’m sure of it.”

“Tailed? My God, I knew it. You bastard, you. Sonovabitch!”

Grummgar kept going, the engine growling under the strain, putting more miles between them and the highway. Snoke was kneeling on the front seat, peering anxiously at the back window. “I don’t see nobody,” he said “I think you’re nuts.”

Suddenly, Grummgar slammed on the brakes, catapulting Snoke forward, his large head striking forcefully against the padded dashboard. He cried out weakly, then collapsed in a big bundle between the seat and the dash. 

When he came to he was lying on the desert floor with the bright stars flickering above him in an inky spaceless sky. He raised his head and groaned painfully. Nervous fingers gingerly probed the wide brow, ready to flee at the first sight of a bruise. A moment later he sat bolt upright, fully aware of where he was and what had happened.

“Grum! Where are you?”

“Right here, buddy,” a soft voice answered directly behind his head.”

He’s spun around, his pale blue eyes widening in terror. “What, what are you doin’, for God’s sake, Grum? Put that down.”

The rod in Grummgar’s tight fist was aimed squarely at Don Snoke’s head. “It’s too bad, Dell. You had it made. Big man with the brain of a two-bit punk. Say bye, bye, cruel world. You’re going on a trip, Dell. A long, long trip. First class all the way.”

Snoke’s throat had become so dry he couldn’t talk. He tried to swallow but there wasn’t a drop of saliva anywhere in his mouth. He raised his arms, his voice squeaking incoherently.

Grummgar laughed. “Just like a rat, Dell. That’s pretty funny. Now turn around.”

Snoke shook his head, struggling for speech, the squeak shrilling his desperation.

“Aw, shut up,” Grummgar said, jerking the trigger, the slug smashing into Snoke’s face an inch below the right eye. Grummgar emptied the full clip without missing once.

“Good job, Grum,” a voice said, directly behind Grummgar.

Grummgar remained in the squat position, his thick-chested body balanced on powerful legs. He wanted to look back but he couldn’t turn his head. The voice belonged to Stomeroni Starck, the First Order’s number one enforcer. Krennic had crossed him and Starck was there for the hit. He must have stowed away in the trunk of the car. Grummgar closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. The only sensation he experienced was the cold hardness of the gun barrel as it was pressed against the base of his skull. His thoughts ran wild and for a second he convinced himself the whole thing was a bad dream. He had had enough of those dreams to know. Sure, it had to be a nightmare. Don Snoke lying on the sand at his feet was also part of the same crazy dream. Soon now he would awake and everything would be copacetic. Just like always. He began to laugh. Hell, that was pretty funny when you thought of it. It was one of the most realistic dreams he had ever experienced. Even the muscles in his legs were beginning to jerk from the strain of the taut position. Man, it certainly felt like the real thing, alright. Soon his body began to shake with laughter.

“What a laugh,” he said. “What a goddamn laugh.”

“Take it easy, Grum,” the voice said.

There was that voice again. Just like Starck was standing right there behind him. The laughter ceased and Grummgar nervously wiped his mouth. “What the hell,” he said. “What the hell is this all about anyway? I don’t get it.”

A second later the desert stillness was shattered by an explosion. Grummgar pitched headlong, one thousand percent dead before his face even hit the sand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Farewell to our Croc King! 🐊👑


	37. Chapter 37

Orson Krennic moved into Don Snoke’s quarters, taking Kaydel Ko Connix with him. In the first twenty-four hours, Krennic was a very busy man. He had meetings with hundreds of Adelmo Snoke’s men, some individually, others in groups of ten and twenty. _Capi mafiosi_ from the six Western states flew into Corellia for the hurried conferences and flew right out again, ready and happy to do business any old way Krennic wanted it done. There was much backslapping, handshaking and toast-drinking. Inquiries as to health, family and business were as sincerely solicited as ever, even though time was at a premium.

Krennic smiled and exercised his famous armshake. Within twenty-four hours the largest manhunt in underworld history had been launched. Bookies who worked as barbers, beauticians, cabbies, bellhops, policemen, firemen, reporters, motel and hotel desk clerks, grease monkeys, shoeshine boys, bartenders, waiters, waitresses, cigar-liquor-delicatessen operators, and hundreds of other solid citizens engaged in seemingly legitimate enterprises. Added to this were all the professional hoodlums operating the rackets in the six Western states, plus hundreds of hoodlums outside the rackets who were sucked in by the fifty thousand dollar reward whispered along the grapevine for any information on the whereabouts of Ben Solo and his paramour. Rey La Dolce is what they called her. That meant “The Sweet” in Italian. Though, Rey never knew why.

Kaydel Ko Connix was disappointed by the turn of events. At first she hadn’t wanted to go to New Alderaan, and now that she was back in Corellia she couldn’t wait to leave.

“But how long is it going to take?” she asked, sitting up in the bed. “You said we’d be in Canto Bight two days and then fly right to New Alderaan. Well, we were there two days, alright, but we flew right back here instead, and we’ve been here for two days. Look, if you’re not going to take me, just say so. I’ll find somebody else. Don’t think I can’t either.”

“Sure, sure,” Krennic said, turning on his stomach and burying his face in the soft down pillow.

“I’m not joking. I mean it. Now either you give me an exact date or I’ll take my own date.”

Krennic raised his white head, his usually soft blue eyes now brittle and sharp. “You’re getting to be a real pain in the neck,” he said. “You just don’t learn, do you?”

“Well, don’t I have rights? What am I, a slave or something?”

“You’re a dame,” he said, “a noisy, bitchy, troublemaking dame. The kind of dame you can’t turn your back on for five minutes without her having a body scissors on somebody.”

Kaydel looked away. “I need a drink,” she said. “My nerves are all tangled up.”

“Sure, lush it up,” he said. “Then go see Stomeroni. Tell him I sent you. He’ll take care of you.”

“Stomeroni? That creep.” She jumped out of the bed, and angrily stalked across the room to the door.

Krennic watched her without interest. Maybe, she could do a couple of cute tricks. But what the hell. A piece was a piece. Put a sack over their heads and they all looked alike.

She came back into the room carrying a bottle of rye. “How about you, Orson, doll-cat-baby? Want a little nip?”

Krennic said, “All you’ve got to do is smell the bottle and you start talking like a lousy kook.” He shook his head with great disgust. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

“I know it,” she said. “But I don’t need a two-bit hoodlum to analyze me. And what do you think you are? Sane? That’s a laugh.” And she started to laugh.

Krennic reached for the phone and pressed the intercom button. “Mitaka, get in here on the double.”

Kaydel tilted the bottle and took a long pull. She smiled coyly at Krennic and wiped her chin with the back of her hand. “What do you say, Orson, doll-cat-baby? Shall we have a little fun. Here, I’ll dance for you. Watch me.”

The door opened and Dopheld Mitaka rushed into the room, looking wild-eyed.

“Get her out of here,” Krennic said. “And take her to Stomeroni. Tell him it’s a little gift for a job well done. And tell him if she’s too much for him, to boot her ass out of here for keeps.” 

Kaydel Ko Connix stared incredulously at Krennic, the bottle held limply at her side. “You’re kidding,” she stammered, wetting her lips, her brown eyes blinking. “I mean, you wouldn’t do that to me. I was good to you. Now, wasn’t I? Please, you know I was. Don’t do that, Orson. Please. If you’re tired of me, tell me, just tell me and I’ll walk out and never come back. But don’t do that. I beg you. Please, Orson, don’t do it.”

“Get her out of here,” Krennic said, turning on his stomach again, the pillow covering his face. He couldn’t see from that position but he could hear everything. It sounded like Mitaka had his hands full. Krennic smiled. She was a wildcat, alright. Hell, she’d probably drive Stomeroni right out of his goddamn mind. Stomeroni wasn’t used to that kind of high-class cooze. Well, it was about time he found out about it. Stomeroni Starck was a good boy with a large future in the organization. A real promising career.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.

  
It was a small cottage, warm and pleasant, with a fieldstone fireplace and a huge glass wall facing the ocean. The kitchen was small and the bedroom only large enough to accommodate a double bed, but the living room made up for the lost space. It was wide and long and nearly fifteen feet high, the huge beams cantilevering out over the water. The walls were knotty pine and the thick cocoa-colored carpeting was exceptionally clean. The furniture was early American and looked newly reupholstered. Solo had liked the room on sight.

Rey, to Solo’s astonishment, was not a bad cook. She was constantly preparing little dishes for them to nibble beside the fireplace in the evening. They talked and listened to the warm crackling of the fire, while outside the ocean roared and crashed mercilessly against the rocks and pilings. By ten o’clock every night Solo found himself yawning and barely able to keep his eyes open. Rey, though, remained wide awake, chirping happily about her experiences, somehow, by a complex process of her imagination, linking them inextricably to their future.

"Oh, it’s going to be wonderful,” she was saying on their third night in the cottage. “Never having to worry about money, just living the life of ease in plenty. Geez, it sounds too good to be true.” She stopped and hugged his leg. She was sitting on the floor by his chair, looking up at him. “Sometimes, you know, I get a scared feeling inside and I can barely breathe. It chokes me all up.”

Solo nodded and gently weaved his fingers through her silky brunette hair. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Everything is set.”

“But, Solo, honey. I don’t like leaving without you. Can’t we go together?”

“Now, Little Bit, I’ve already explained it to you.”

“I know, but I still don’t understand why you’ve got to do it that way.”

Solo sighed patiently. “I’ll give it to you once more. First, I tried to charter a private plane to fly us down to Chile but I couldn’t find anyone to do it.”

“Now, stop there. That I don’t understand.”

“We’re hotter than a two-dollar pistol,” Solo said. “Red hot.”

“But why? I didn’t see anything in the paper about it. The cops don’t have the slightest idea it was you. But, Geez, I do feel sorry for that poor movie actor who was killed. Geez, Poe Dameron. I wish you hadn’t done that. That was terrible.”

“It couldn’t be helped,” Solo said. “We’ve gone over that, too, about a hundred times.”

“I’m sorry. I just can’t think of you as a murderer. I don’t know. You seem so, well, you know, kind. Well, at least, not mean.”

“It was an accident and the insufferable prick was just born under a bad sign,” Solo said. “I did the best I could to avoid hurting anyone. That’s why I timed the bombs and stuck them where nobody could get to them so they’d have plenty of time to get out.”

“Oh, I know. But, I don’t know. I get all so confused when I think about it. Geez, you know, that’s a terrible thing. Awful.”

“You want me to explain or not?” Solo asked.

“I’m sorry. Go ahead.”

“The heat is not from the cops. It’s from the underworld. The First Order and they’re a lot more dangerous than the cops. There’s a fifty thousand reward for our heads right now. That’s how desperate those punks are. And believe me, they’re not going to miss any bets.”

“Then why don’t we both take the plane?”

“Rey, think a minute. I explained to you about customs.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Okay, then. You take the flight in the morning to Valparaiso, Chile, and the minute you get there, you wire me your address and a post office number in Valparaiso and one in Santiago. It’s just a few miles away. Now, so far so good?”

“Yes, I know.”

“Okay, I've got three boxes here, each containing a half-million dollars. As soon as I get the address and post office numbers I will mail a package, first class, airmail, to each of these places. All you’ve got to do is pick them up and sit on them until they get there.”

“It’s real clever but I hate to go alone.”

“Well, if everything clicks, I’ll be there soon enough to take care of your little problems.” He smiled and lowered his hand. “Now, I’ve got to go out and make a phone call.”


	39. Chapter 39

Since Teedo had received the word he couldn’t get the fifty grand out of his mind. What a snap way to make a killing. And one thing was certain, those boys would pay off. They had to if they wanted to keep the grapevine working. It wasn’t the first time a reward had been offered and each time it had been paid off on the button. Them boys knew what they were doing. But this was the largest reward offered. And he was one of the few guys who knew why. First, he had connected the three deaths in Chandrila to his chopper and then that heist in Canto Bight had been a lead-pipe cinch. Hell, a two-year-old would have connected that one. Now all he had to do was wait for Solo to come back and finish the job. Teedo had no doubts about that either. Solo had to kill him. With what he knew he could have the guy executed ten times. Hell, out of stir in a week and four dead. The sonofabitch was sure an operator. Teedo had known him at the Prism. Solo had pretty much run things around there. He had the screws and the cons eating out of his hand. Teedo had joined the pack. What else could a guy do in stir? You either ran with the guys in power or you ran for cover. There was no two ways about it. Secretly, though, Teedo had always despised Solo. The bum was too damn confident. The way he talked and walked you’d think he owned the damn joint. All them stupid cons bowing and scraping. God, it was just plain disgusting.

Teedo got up and placed a pan of water on the hotplate. “A little cup of tea,” he said aloud, “and a nice little sugar doughnut will just hit the spot.” He had barricaded himself in the backroom, with all the doors and windows locked, and all the shades drawn. He felt safe and secure, especially with the .45 automatic stuck in the waistband of his dirty Levi’s. “Come on, Solo,” he said softly. “Come see little Teedo. Your little pal. He’s got something here waiting for you.”

Teedo had followed the same routine for three nights now, brewing tea at the same time, making the same inane remarks on cue. Talking to himself was a habit of long-standing. He enjoyed it much more than talking to people. Here, there was no argument. Well, at least, none he wouldn’t win with a little effort. 

At 11:30 he was ready for bed, which consisted of a sagging army cot, a torn mattress and an olive green army blanket with so much dust and dirt in it that it had turned a navy blue. There were no sheets, and the pillow, also an army issue, was without a pillow slip. Teedo kicked off his shoes and slept under the blanket fully dressed. He kept the .45 at his waist band and folded his hands behind his head. He stared up at the cracked plaster ceiling and thought of the fifty thousand dollars. But it was only money he thought of. Not once did he think of what he could buy with it. The dreams consisted merely of huge stacks of bills, all green and all very crisp.

At one o’clock, while sound asleep, a wire garrote was quietly and skillfully laced around his thin dry neck, and seconds later his windpipe collapsed, and he gurgled just once and promptly died in his sleep.


	40. Chapter 40

They took Sullust Boulevard back to the sea. From Ringali to Hanna it was just an ordinary street, drab and colorless, with old apartment houses and bleak office buildings and warehouses. But from Hanna on westward it took on the many faces of wealth, the glamour of Chandrila, the sophistication of the Strip, the ornate luxury of Bespin, Esseles, Bela Vistal, Brentaal and Kamino. 

“I used to love this street,” Rey said. “I remember riding around here on Sunday afternoons in a convertible. Geez, I was sure young and stupid in those days. I thought of those people living in those big houses were like royalty. You know, refined and cultured, and interested in things like classical music and paintings and good books. What a yak.”

“Light me a butt,” Solo said.

She fished in her large purse, and continued. “Then I began to get in the swing. You know, a party here and a party there, and boy did my eyes get opened. Those people are no better than you and me. They’ve got all the big stuff but inside there they are small. And I mean small. Listen, I could tell you things. Geez, what I don’t know about some of those characters. Like creeps,” she said, stopping to fire the cigarette. She handed it to Solo and lit one for herself. “And I do mean creeps. Lots of Adelmo Snoke’s boys live out here in big houses with swimming pools and tennis courts. You know, Boba Fett had a house out here, big white pile of brick on three acres; and Dooku, all kinds of bugs. Bad faces, no good cats who’d beat their mothers for beer money.”

“I’ve been thinking...” Solo said.

“Good. ‘Cause every time you start thinkin’, we end up makin’ money.”

“Might not be a bad idea to dye your hair before leaving in the morning. Just in case those guys are watching the airport.”

“Solo! I can’t do that. I’m a natural brunette. Geez, girls I know with their right arms up to there just to be expensive blondes.”

“You’re not going down there for a beauty contest.”

“I’ll wear a kerchief, cover it all up, and sunglasses. And besides, I’m a brunette on that passport you got me.”

“That’s another thing. You better get used to that new name. Remember, from now on you’re Akira Ren.”

“You can call me Kiki.”

Solo smiled. “I always wanted to call a girl Kiki.”

“It’s sexy, ain’t it?”

“Oh, sure.”

“But it is. Geez, you don’t have any imagination.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he said. I’ve seen a number of Frenchie books and it seems the dame was always called Kiki. And was she ever loaded.”

“Well, then, that should give you ideas.”

“I don’t need names or books for those kind of ideas. They come like your hair, natural.”

She pressed against him. “Solo. Are you going to make sweet love to me tonight?” She nibbled his neck.

“Let’s wait till we get home,” he said. “It’ll be time enough to decide.”

“Oh, Solo, I’m gonna miss you so much. Geez, I don’t know what I’ll do just sitting over there waiting and wondering whether you’re alright or not.”

“You’re getting to be quite the little wife,” Solo said.

“Well, that’s an idea that really appeals to me. Are you by chance proposing to me?”

“No,” Solo said. “And don’t razz me about it.”

There was her profile as she lifted her face, then it was mingled with his as she kissed him. Solo returned the kiss, her arms creeping up around his neck.

After an electric moment, he spoke. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know—” She kissed him almost fiercely. “Now take some ice,” he said. “And stop behaving like a cornball. Let it go — please.”

But Rey held him fast. “You thinking about Hux?”

“Don’t you think somebody ought to?”

Rey soberly shook her head. “You’re all wrong, honey. Hux and I — were just friends. No fooling.”

“Rey, you don’t have to hand me a line.”

He turned away from her, but Rey put her arms around him. “I’m not handing you a line. I’d just been kidding him along. You know — on account of the Code. I owed him something for the break he gave me.”

“It didn’t look like kidding to me.”

“Look, honey — you’re wrong. I could hardly stand to be in the same room with him when he was alive.”

“How’d you get mixed up with a character like Hux anyway?”

“Just because he was mean, a four flusher who used to run around with other women? And on my nickel? I don’t know. Nobody else was much interested in a hoister playing the subway circuit and battering up the main stem. Well, I had to eat, didn’t I?”

“Why do you have to have anybody at all?”

“Everybody needs somebody. Like Chewie needed Han. Who wants to be a stray dog? You’ve got to belong to someone, even if he kicks you once in a while. I don’t want to be known as a come-on dame, wolf trap, sucker bait, covergirl on the book of temptation or whatever you call ‘em. The kind of woman a man would die for... and usually does?”

“I guess you can’t help it. You’re like a leaf that the wind blew from one gutter to another.”

“You boiled my first cabbage and made it awful hot. You noticed that, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but I thought—”

“You’d question a lady’s word? I tell you I hadn’t been alone with Hux or _any_ chump ten seconds. Listen, baby, all I want is you. I’m telling you true. When I put on my lips, you just remember I’m putting them on for you. Another thing—” She kissed his cheek. “You think I could do this if it were any other way?”

“This guy I knew once was hooked on the Irish Pigeon Racket. A brunette set him up for a pigeon, slipped him a Mickey F and flew off with his bankroll. What’s the diff? It’s all a frame.” It was all he could say, caught in the pleading, searching eyes of Rey.

She put her arms around him and kissed him twice. “You’ve been jealous of him too long. You’ve got the habit. I see that hurt look you get whenever I mention his name or any mug tries to toss the glad eye. I couldn’t figure it out. That’s never happened to me before. That’s when I got wise to myself.”

“You mean that?”

“Absolutely. Now are you satisfied?”

In reply Solo turned in her embrace and faced her, putting his arm around her neck, all his doubts gone. Rey was in great joy. “I don’t care about nothing now. Nothing in the world.” Her voice seemed to catch fire and blaze up and as she lifted her lips to his, “Solo.”

“Solo my ass. Don’t jinx it.”

“Solo, darling, honey. I love you.”

Solo’s hands tightened on the wheel, the muscles along his jawline suddenly taut. “Let's not talk about it now. Let’s wait and see how it all works out first.”

“But why not?”

“Drop it, Rey. We’ve got enough to handle right now without getting all screwed up emotionally.”

She didn’t answer but cuddled closer, her fingers digging into his arm. “I don’t care,” she whispered. “I do love you.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence. Later, they spent the night in each other’s arms and Solo was very gentle and understanding. 

Falling under the spell, then suddenly jerking awake, nothing had changed. She wasn’t a chump. She was Rey. She was somebody who knew Solo, red, white and blue. She couldn’t be fooled. They were right back where they started. 

That night. Watching somebody sleep made you want to cry or something. He sure brought out the sweet side in her. His face. It was so beautiful, it was like that sculpture she buzzed in one of the gang’s biggest grifts ever. She wanted to touch it. She wanted to kiss it. She wanted _him._ That was all. And then she loved him. Rey would have died for Solo. She still would. She wanted him to be better dressed than anybody else. She wanted him to have more money in his pockets. She wanted to be proud of him. She never felt this way about anyone. He was in her blood. That’s why she was going to work twice as hard for Solo than she ever did for Hux. The redheaded impresario would just sit pretty on his little goldmine. He was handling Pavlova and wanted her to dance just for him. It was a God-given talent. It was meant to be shared with the public. Maybe Solo would be the one to reform her. With all that loot he ought to buy his babe a rock. And maybe it wouldn’t be hot.

He rolled over and roughly took her in his arms.

She craved his body to quell her lusty passions, but her lover was no good. But he never pretended to be. But he loved her. He was a hustler, a chiseler. Just like her. He’d always been one. But he loved her. He may be a thief of the world, but he’d always been on the level with her. She’d done a lot of talking about love. Solo never said a word about it to her before, kissing her almost fiercely. But he guessed Rey got the general idea. He wasn’t a man of words but action. He kissed her again. Then, releasing her, he turned on his back. Rey lied there staring after him. After a moment she drew a deep breath — not of air, but of pure decision.

They were a cinch. They had Fate on their side. Kismet.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.

Rey said goodbye to Solo in the parking lot at International Airport. They kissed awkwardly and Rey sniffled, the tears hidden by the sunglasses. Solo wished her a good trip and she cautioned him to take care of himself. A moment later she walked away from him, erect under the weight of the suitcase. She turned to wave once just before entering the terminal. Solo waved back. Then she was gone and he felt a strange emptiness inside of him. It was an odd sensation, almost like fear slowly working into his guts.

At first he had planned on leaving immediately after dropping her off, but now he was undecided. He leaned back in his seat and lighted a cigarette. Her plane was scheduled to take off at nine. That gave him a little over a half-hour wait. The penny-ante annoyance of morning tiredness drained from his face, unmasking a blank stare of existential panic quite unlike any emotion Solo had felt before.

This was some woman he found for himself. Less than two weeks out of stir and he had a fortune and a beautiful dame who loved him. The two most important things in a man’s life. What more could he ask for? He had it made if only his luck held out a little longer. Once Rey was on that plane his chances would increase fifty percent. And hers a hundred percent. Even if his luck gave out, she would be all set. Solo had scotch-taped two hundred G-bills inside the lining of her purse and suitcase. With that kind of loot a girl like Rey would make out okay anywhere. Besides that she carried another fifty grand in hundreds and fifties in the open inside her purse and bag. No matter what happened she was well taken care of. Well, she had certainly earned that dough and more. She had carried out her part of the operation like a pro.

Solo threw the butt out and lighted another one. Ten minutes to go. Ten minutes and he’d return to that empty cottage and sit it out until he heard from her. That was going to be a long wait.

Then suddenly, to his utter astonishment, Rey came walking out of the terminal, flanked by two hard-faced hoods. Solo’s muscles tensed, his dark brooding eyes turning pitch. Behind them walked another hood, a big guy with a cleft chin and brown straight hair. Rey never once looked towards Solo as they went by not more than ten feet away from his car. Solo watched them in the rear vision mirror, saw her being shoved into the backseat with the slick-haired guy sliding in beside her. The other two got in the front.

When they drove off, Solo casually followed. If ever there was a time when it was smart to make a break for it, now was that time. All Solo had to do was drive down to Vreni Island, pick up the dough, and take off for Coruscant or Doaba Guerfel, or any place where he could hop a tramp steamer out of the country. Fooling around now, getting sentimental, could only mean disaster. Once Rey talked, and she would talk before they got done with her, Solo’s days would be numbered. He had seen this happen many times before. The cops nabbed a member of the gang and the next thing they knew the cops were right on top of them with choppers and shotguns, blasting the hell out of them. The smart thing now was to run. The fastest and the farthest the better.

And still, realizing all that, Solo continued to follow the black Kalevalan towards Corellia. He could see the pink kerchief covering her brunette hair in the rear window and the brown greasy head of the hoodlum leaning close to her. He was talking fast, emphasizing his words with quick movements of his head. Rey sat like a stone statue, never moving, staring straight ahead.

Solo felt a glow of pride. The kid was alright. Sticking her chin way out for him. Some dames would be spilling their guts out right now. She had to know what was ahead of her. Those punks were not playing games. And Rey had been around long enough to know the score.

Though the urge to escape persisted at the back of his mind, Solo knew all along that he could never leave Rey to the mercy of those punks. Not because she had been part of the operation and he owed her loyalty. There was no such thing on the job. Everybody was on his own from beginning to end. This wasn’t the Boy Scouts or even the U.S. Marines. Here it was everybody for himself. If you wanted to be a big man in this business, you had to forget personalities. No personalities, just business. That was the way it was and the way it had always been. Sure, he had busted some jails with Han to bail out a couple of guys but that had been strictly business. They had needed the guys for a job. Otherwise, they could have sat there and rotted. Or they could rot in a ditch with the bullet in their gut or anywhere else for that matter. Taking care of the sick or the unfortunate was not part of running a gang of jug tappers.

So why was he following Rey? Why was he risking everything? Not only the money but his very life. Why was he being such a stupid featherhead? It’s that damn pink kerchief, he thought. And those damn brunette curls under it. It can’t be her brain. He smashed his fist against the steering wheel. It’s that damn feeling in my gut, that sickly, gnawing, empty feeling that makes me feel that without her everything is lost anyway. If she’s lost, then I’m lost. God, that’s a laugh. A soft-soaping, madcap dame who gabs a mile a minute every minute of the goddamn day and night. What is it all about?

Ben Solo shook his head, completely and totally bewildered. Love was something he had never known. And now that it was here, twisting his inside, he was afraid to recognize it. Subconsciously afraid that it would weaken him, make him pitiful like other men he had known. Cons who had eaten their hearts out in stir while their dames shoved around on a first come, first served basis. Solo had sneered contemptuously at their cuckholded misery.

It wasn’t that Solo was scared of being hurt by love. Fear was something else Solo had never truly experienced. When he had been younger, he had been too wild, too cocky, too confident, to fear anything or love anyone. It was as if his insides had been wrapped protectively in cotton batting, insulating him from the two most powerful emotions of man. Powerful and weakening. Solo had a family, a mother and father who loved each other until the very end, and gone on his way without any emotional attachment.

So why then should these emotions stir him in his adult age? At a time when they could do him the most harm. Solo didn’t know and didn’t want to think about it. Because suddenly with the quivering pangs of love had to come the deeper, sharper pains of fear. He could feel it in his legs and in his hands. And it wasn’t a personal fear for his own safety or escape, but a fear for Rey. She was in grave danger and beyond his control. Risking everything he still could not be sure he could help her.

Suddenly, Solo found himself on the Coast Highway, headed towards Vreni Island, the Kalevalan not more than a hundred yards ahead of him. He drove without thinking, refusing to consider the possibilities. The Kalevalan picked up speed and Solo let it gain distance between them until he could barely make out the round head covered by the pink kerchief. The greater the distance the smaller the reality. Just a little more distance and there will be nothing visible from the rear window. The reality of Rey Solo would cease to exist.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The last chapter before the eight-part epilogue. THANK YOU all again ❤️❤️❤️ Especially my dear friends Sasha and Saga for bringing this story to life 😘
> 
> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.
> 
>  **Warning for** : Mob violence.

Kaydel Ko Connix stood in the middle of the sprawling living room silently contemplating a water glass full of rye. All the cool blonde had to do was gulp it down and reality would suddenly become blurred and intangible. And with it the ugly image of Kaydel Ko Connix would sink into limbo.

She weighed the glass and sniffed it. Shivers ran down her spine. It was a horrible, gagging, raw odor. And no matter how much she drank of it she couldn’t get used to it. That is, she couldn’t cultivate a liking for the smell or taste of it. It was like a horrid medicine. You took it because it did a job that needed to be done. You closed your eyes, pinched your nose, and swallowed the junk down as fast as you could without spilling any of it. Then you sat down or laid down and waited for the results. It was a kill or a cure. But in her case it was just a kill. It cured nothing. Unless time was something. Then, of course, it cured that or killed it or both or something or what the hell. Kill, cure, time, schmime. Who cared? The point was it went away. Disappeared like. You drank it today and then it was tomorrow. Just like that. And unless somebody told you or there was a calendar around, you didn’t even know it. Mr. Sourmash’s magic medicine. Poof! And it vanished in a puff of smoke. That’s what life was. A miserable puff of smoke. Big puff, little puff. Quick and slow puff. Fat puff, skinny puff, ugly puff, pretty puff, all kinds of goddamn sonovabitching puffs. But hers was the skinniest, the ugliest, the slowest, the most worthless puff of all.

Here she was, for instance, the mistress of a fourteen room phantasmagoria in the heart of the Vreni Island movie colony. So goddamn swank and ultra-sophisticated the goddamn clams didn’t dare take a leak without first excusing himself in French. But what was it? Another goddamn puff of smoke. A lousy rehabilitation center for dope pushers, pimps, gamblers and killers. Mr. Adelmo Snoke’s summer home. Now, of course, Mr. Orson Krennic’s summer home, and probably someday soon top torpedo Mr. Starck’s house.

So what was the answer? Mr. Sourmash’s magic formula, naturally. She spread her legs, raised the glass to her lips, closed her nose and tilted her head. “Here goes nothing into nothing,” she said. “The result? Nothing, stupid. Not a goddamn sonovabitching thing.”

The front door opened and she heard voices in the entrance hall, then footsteps coming down the hallway towards the living room. She lowered the glass, and remained standing, her legs still wide apart, the skirt hugging her thighs sensuously, her long lemon-colored hair falling loosely across her shoulders, her brown eyes impatient but curious.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, disappointment in her voice.

“Sure, it’s me, chickie,” Starck said, striding across the room towards her, a grin pulling the corners of his mouth down to reveal his lower teeth. “Who did you expect?”

“The milkman,” she said, holding the glass before her to stop him. “Who else?”

The sinister face of Stomeroni Starck, freelance killer for hire, stared directly at Kaydel. A chilling smile played tentatively on his mouth, as though he couldn’t decide whether to charm or intimidate. “Look what I’ve got,” Starck said, pointing to Rey.

“I hope you two will be very happy together.”

“Funny, chickie. You paralyze me. So help me, I’ll never know why Orson Krennic kicked you out. You’re a million chuckles.”

Kaydel Ko Connix quickly glanced into the large clear frightened hazel eyes of Rey and immediately turned away. She knew Rey, had known her for years, and she knew why the boys had brought her to the house. She knew everything. Even about Adelmo Snoke and Grummgar lying dead in the desert, their bullet-riddled bodies still undiscovered. Krennic had talked plenty. Starck had talked plenty. Everybody talked plenty but no one seemed the least worried that she might pick up the habit. That was how sure they were of themselves. They had it made, the package tied up a dozen different ways, and, brother, anybody interested in untying any of those knots better have some croak sheets for the little widow.

“Hi, Rey,” Kaydel said, her back still to Rey. “Come in and join the party.”

“Hi, Kay,” Rey said. “What are you doing here?”

Kaydel took a small sip of the rye.

Starck said, “Look, this bitch won’t talk. Maybe you can convince her before Orson gets here. Otherwise, it’s gonna be real nasty.”

“Come here, Rey,” Kaydel said. “Sit here by me.”

“I’m not gonna tell you a thing,” Rey said defiantly. “Those no-goodniks from Creepville can drop dead.”

“See what I mean?” Starck said. “She’s asking for it. And the minute Orson gets here she’s gonna get it.”

Kaydel stood up and talked to Rey, taking her hand and leading her to the sofa. “Want a drink, honey?”

“No,” Rey said. “I don’t want anything and I’m not gonna say anything no matter who comes here.”

“That’s not like you, Rey. What’s the matter, you love the guy?”

“Yes,” Rey said, raising her voice. “Yeah. You hear that, you crumbs? I love Solo and I’m not gonna talk.”

“Leave us alone,” Kaydel said. “Let me talk to her.”

“You better make it P.D.Q. Orson will be here any minute.”

“I heard you the first time,” Kaydel said. “So split, no-tomorrow style, heh?”

Starck leaned toward Rey, letting the full force of his psychotic personality cast its pall. “Don’t try nothing, Chickie,” Starck said.

“Split, already.”

The three men reluctantly left the room. Kaydel offered Rey a sip of her drink but she shook her head.

“Don’t talk,” Kaydel said. “It won’t do any good. They’re going to kill you, honey, either way.”

Rey bit her lower lip, her eyes flashing angrily. “I know it,” she said. “But it don’t make any difference. They could give me a million dollars and I still wouldn’t talk. I’m not gonna say one lousy word. Not one.”

“That’s the bravest speech anyone’s ever made since Joan of Arc. Here, come on, drink this down.”

“No,” Rey said. “I don’t want to get drunk. I want to know what I’m doing. I don’t want anybody tricking me into saying something I shouldn’t.”

“I wish I could help you,” Kaydel said.

“Nobody can help me,” Rey said. “Geez, I know about these creeps. To hell with them. Damn them to hell and gone.”

“I’ll talk to Krennic,” Kaydel said.

Hope sparkled for a moment in Rey’s eyes. “You know him good?”

“Too good,” Kaydel said.

The sparkle died.

“Was Solo at the airport with you?”

“I’m going to tell you nothing. Period.”

“Did he see you with Starck?”

Rey shook her head. “You’re wasting your time.”

“They’re going to get him, you know. Unless he’s already in Chile?”

“How did you know about Chile?”

“They knew about it yesterday. The creep who sold you the passport is ten thousand dollars richer today.”

“Geez,” Rey said. “Talk about creeps. Wow. You got nice friends. What are you gonna do? Sit here and drink while they kill me?”

Kaydel took another sip. “So what makes you different? That buggy Boy Scout of yours has probably killed dozens, maybe more. Some hero.”

“It’s not the same,” Rey said.

“What’s different about it?”

Rey shrugged. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Kaydel stood up. “Yes, I would,” she said, softly. “He’s straight with you and that’s all that counts. Right?”

Rey nodded. “He’s the first man who’s ever treated me like a human being instead of a nobody from a notch house. I wasn’t worth fifteen cents for parts. Geez, we were gonna have it nice.” Her hazel eyes became misty and she quickly looked at her hands on her lap.

“That’s tough, honey. It’s a nowhere drag. It hangs me up.”

Rey fumbled in her bag for a handkerchief and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “I wish I was dead,” she said. “I just feel terrible. But I knew it couldn’t last. I just knew it. I told Solo last night. It was all inside here. You know, all tight and scared like.”

“Well,” Starck said, coming into the room with Rodinon and Gideon Hask directly behind him. “Let’s have it.”

“Drop dead,” Rey said. “I’m not gonna tell you a damn thing.”

Rodinon giggled. “That’s rich, man,” he said. “Real rich.”

“Yeah,” Hask said. “Chickie, you’ll be begging to talk before this little party is over.”

Starck crossed over to the sofa and ripped the scarf from her head, quickly grabbing a handful of brunette hair. “On your feet, Chickie, quick,” he said, jerking her up.

Kaydel screamed and threw the contents of her glass into Rodinon’s face. “You bastard. You cheap sonovabitching bastard.” 

Rodinon whirled, his fist sliding along the tip of Kaydel’s chin, dropping her with a loud thump on her seat. She sat there, dizzily shaking her head, all the fight gone out of her.

“Hey, what’s the matter with you?” Starck said. “That’s my girl. Keep your hands off her.”

“Look what she did.” Rodinon protested.

“I don’t care what she did. Just keep your hands off her.”

“Hell, she ruined my threads with that lousy drink.”

“Come on, get to work,” Starck said, and swung his hand up. “Dance a little,” Starck said, bringing Rey up on her tiptoes.

Rey’s feet begin to tap, her pointed breasts vibrating.

“Just a minute,” Starck said. “Let’s see if she’s changed her mind.” He released some of the pressure. “What about it, Chickie? Feel like talking?”

Rey shook her head, her hands shooting up to claw his wrists.

Starck swore and jerked her up completely off her feet. She coughed, her face drained of color, her toes trying desperately to find a foothold on the floor.

Just then there was a noise in the hallway and the boys turned to see Orson Krennic standing in the doorway.

“Hi, Orson,” Starck said. “Just having a little ball with Chickie here. The kid’s stubborn.”

“Let her go,” Krennic said.

“Sure, Orson,” Starck said, releasing his hold. Rey slowly sank to the floor, gasping for breath.

“Hey, what the hell,” Starck cried, his hand darting inside his jacket for the .38 special. In an instant all three hoodlums had guns in their hands. And they were all pointed at Krennic.

“Just drop ‘em,” Solo said, from behind Krennic. The chopper was in his hands and the barrel of it was digging into the small of Krennic’s back.

The three hoodlums formed a triangle. Starck dropped to the floor, grabbing Rey with one arm, holding her before him as a shield.

“You drop it, Solo. Or I’ll blast her.”

“You’ll blast her anyway,” Solo said, baiting him with the unnerving calm of the truly mad. “Krennic, you tell those punks to drop the rods or I’ll empty half of this drum in your back.”

“Drop ‘em,” Krennic said. “Don’t argue with the man. He’s insane.”

“It’s not a bad hunch,” Solo said.

“The hell with that,” Starck said. “You don’t think that sonovabitch is gonna let us walk out of here, do you? It’s him or us.”

“Drop ‘em,” Krennic shouted. “What’s the matter, you deaf? Drop them goddamn rods. Now! I’m telling you.”

Starck shook his head. “Hey, Solo. This the chickie that got your number? What’s she made out of, diamonds?”

Krennic made a face indicating that Starck should cool it. Starck looked apologetically to Krennic. “Sorry, Orson. I don’t see it that way. I’ve got it made here with this Chickie and I’m keeping her.”

Kaydel Ko Connix sat on the floor, staring incredulously at the weird drama being enacted before her dazed eyes. It had reached a stalemate. Somebody would have to make a move.

Rey opened her eyes and saw Solo for the first time. “Solo, honey,” she screamed. “Go away. Quick. They’ll kill you.”

“Are you alright?” Solo inquired, his eyes moving about the room, never stopping on any subject for more than a split-second.

“I think so,” she said. “And you?”

“I’m fine,” he said, hesitating a moment. “Honey, I might have to hurt you. You know I don’t want to. I don’t think I’ll be able to help it.”

“Please, go away, save yourself,” she said. “I won’t talk. I won’t say a word.”

“I know,” Solo said.

“Look,” Krennic said, “you can take the baby moll and leave.”

“No, he don’t,” Starck said. “She stays right here.”

“You guys make up your minds,” Solo said.

“Do I have your word on it?” Krennic said. “We let her go and you leave with her and that’s the end of it.”

“That’s the end of it,” Solo said.

Krennic raised his hand. “Listen to me, Starck. Let the girl go. We’re in no position to bargain. You do what I tell you, understand?”

Stomeroni shook his head. “No dice, Orson. That bastard‘s got a chopper. The Chickie stays.”

Krennic gazed swiftly at Rodinon and Hask. “Deal him out now!”

Hask and Rodinon spun around in split-timing unison, their guns blazing simultaneously. The first slug caught Starck in the throat and the second right in the temple. He fell back, his finger freezing on the trigger, the .38 special throbbing in his fist, the momentum spinning Rey around, flinging her headlong into the sofa.

Solo swore and punched the trigger, the fire power of the chopper catapulting Krennic halfway across the room. Solo turned the muzzle towards Rodinon, the slugs smashing across the room, Rodinon’s arm flying up, the gun dropping behind him. Solo maneuvered the chopper back around without releasing the trigger, and cut out while his knowledge box was still in one portion. A .45 slug hit the wall beside him and the chopper flew out of his hand as he staggered down the hallway, fighting to keep his balance until it became hopeless and he fell on his back, his legs kicking up.

Hask gave a wild hysterical cry and ran after him. “You sonovabitch,” he cried, standing above Solo. “You penny-ante bastard.” He leaned forward, pressing the barrel of the .45 inside Solo’s right ear.

“Don’t,” Kaydel cried out.

Hask jumped back, a wild look of panic on his face. Kaydel held the chopper in her hands, the butt resting against her tiny shoulder, her finger on the trigger. She closed her eyes and squeezed it. Eleven slugs entered an area not larger than a saucer in the middle of Hask’s chest.

Solo was already struggling to his feet. Saliva bubbles formed at the corners of his mouth and his eyes looked glazed. But he got to his feet, moaning softly, fighting to keep his head up. Solo staggered across the room and sank to his knees before the sofa.

“Rey, honey,” he murmured, stroking her brunette hair. “I’m sorry, baby.” He slipped his arms under her and pulled her tightly against his chest, fighting to rise to his feet. He fell twice in the attempt and then on the third try he got solidly on his two feet. Her head fell against his neck.

“What do you care, really? Honestly, Solo, weren’t you a little relieved to get out of it that easily? This was a setup, Solo. This was the chance to harvest yourself a crop of lettuce you’d always dreamed about. I was going to let you off without an angle.” She took in his scent and hugged his neck.

“Sure! Who wants to live forever?”

She laughed uneasily, trying to hide her childish sobs and feeling silly and pathetic. “I’m sorry I spoiled your big score. I know it sounds corny to you, but I’d rather have a live robber than a dead one.”

“And I’d rather have you talk without a twist.”

“I told you before, Solo. I wouldn’t lie to you. You wouldn’t be much use to me dead.” 

Kaydel Ko Connix watched him walk the entire length of the living room, down the long hallway, and then she ran to open the front door. Solo went by her without recognition. Rey’s head bobbed on his shoulder and her long hair streamed down, the caramel stained with sweat and some of Starck’s blood.

Solo almost missed the car by a foot. He walked sightlessly past it, his heart racing faster with each step. “Ben...” He turned his head toward the sound. The motion brought a wave of silent thunder with it like the surf crashing on a beach. He heard his name again, a little clearer this time. “Ben...” His eyes opened. The light hurt, but he kept them open. For a minute she was just a dark blur, then the fuzzy edges went away and the blue became beautiful. Finally the buzzing in his ears quieted, still moving forward, his head the heaviest of all objects.

“We’ve got to go,” he groaned. “We can still make it.” He placed her gently in the car seat and dropped his heavy head on her bosom, his lips close to her throat. “Rey, listen to me. I — I love you.” There was a strange sound of awe in his voice.

“Come on, Solo. Now’s not the time to find your soul. The cops are on their way and they don’t dig our style.”

“Where do you want me to find it, in the clink?”

“You got me, ain’t you?” she said, as her left hand made a motion toward his pant pocket.

“Yeah, I got you,” Solo said, feeling his own pulse race with triumph. “You’re my prisoner. And I’m gonna be your jailer for a long, long time.”

Then Solo took her hand, slipped the ring on her finger. Rey looked at the ring and her face lit up with joy.

“But, warden, what’s the charge?”

Rey flung her arms around him and began to cry. After a moment she looked again at her hand — a six-emerald accented, pearl in a yellow gold setting.

“Knocking a guy loose from his hinges and leaving the scene of the accident.”

Slowly; looking at the ring, “That _is_ serious.”

“Yeah, and you can start doing that stretch right now.” Solo turned Rey’s face to his own, and kisses her.

“Where’d you buzz that?”

“It was my grandmother’s, Padmé Amidala Skywalker, ‘La Duchessa di Naboo,’ a former mayor, spy, inventor and Vaudevillian. It ain’t a solitaire but you can get something better.”

“I should’ve known you were that kind of a—”

Solo grinned and pinched her cheek. “It takes one to catch one.”

“Dark and handsome.”

“Oh, you’re gonna get it. You bad bad girl.”

“You’ll find out.”

“Gonna get it!” 

When the chilled dampness hit Kaydel Ko Connix in the face the second she shoved through the door they were both gone. She stopped for a moment bowed her head, then continued slowly down the long empty road, away from the house, away from the dead, away from herself.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Nookie Land!
> 
> The Epilogues — Ex-convict Ben Solo tries to rebuild his life in South America with his loyal wife, Rey, but a few obstacles stand in his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.
> 
>  ***Warnings* for:** Pre-recognition of couvade syndrome, neurosis, anxiety and general diagnosis of stress and nerves, depression, and panic attacks.

  


The trembling finally penetrated his sleep. He fought against it at first, his sleep-soaked mind annoyed at the intrusion. Then he was wide-awake, sitting up in the double bed, looking down at Rey, his hand groping in the darkness for the lamp switch above the headboard.

“You alright, baby?”

“Can’t sleep, that’s all.”

A pause. Solo sensed her vulnerability. She lay back in the bed, her once thin waist now bloated by eight months of pregnancy. The sudden glare of the light startled her and she quickly flipped over on her side, away from him, burying her tear-stained face in the pillow.

“Please, Ben,” she whispered in a trembling voice, “don’t look at me.” And she began to moan, slowly rocking her heavy body, her long, shapely fingers gripping the pillow.

“Migraine?” he asked, feeling foolish in his helplessness.

“Yes. I think I’m going crazy.” She turned to look at him, her body still rocking with the pain.

He reached over and gently brushed her light brown hair from her for perspiring face. Her forehead was cold and clammy. “You need a pill,” he said. “I’ll fix it.”

“Don’t,” she groaned, suddenly sitting up in the bed. Then she was in his arms, her face pressed against his chest; and he held her trembling body in silence for a long time.

“I want the baby. I really do,” she whispered fiercely. “You believe that, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“I want it more than anything else on earth. We waited two years and now it’s here… and I’m happy. Truly happy. You’ve got to believe that. You’ve got to.” The sobs tore at her throat, strangling her.

“I’ve never doubted it,” he said, holding her tightly, suddenly beginning to doubt.

She pushed away from him and flipped her hair back with a wild toss of her head. She waited before speaking, struggling for control.

“The doctor said migraine was quite common during pregnancy…” She hesitated, slowly turning her eyes away to avoid his.

“Well, then,” he said, “that explains it. Now let me get the pills. You must have some sleep.”

“It doesn’t explain it,” she cried, suddenly frantic. “You don’t understand. It’s subconscious.”

“What?”

“It’s subconscious. Don’t you understand?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Oh, please,” she cried, helplessly, throwing herself into his arms, her fingernails biting into his back. “I want the baby. I do, I do, I do.”

“Of course you do.”

“But I’m afraid. I felt it move again tonight. This time it’s getting nearer, and I’m… I’m… I’m afraid, Ben. So afraid.”

He patted her head reassuringly. “Poor baby,” he said, “don’t be afraid. There’s really nothing to be afraid of.”

“I’m too small. I know it. Why do you Solos have to be giants? Something dreadful will happen.”

“Nothing will happen. Everything will be alright. I promise you.”

“Oh, Ben! I’m so ashamed. It’s the headache. It drives me insane. If feels as if the whole side of my head is coming off.”

“Now, look, just relax and I’ll fix you up a pill. It’ll take just a minute.”

“No, Ben. I’m out of pills,” she murmured. And the trembling started again. “But please don’t worry. I’ll be alright in a little while.” She pushed out of his arms and sank back onto the bed. 

He looked down at her sadly. Her stomach was so big and the rest of her was so small, he wanted to cry. “Look, it won’t take me a minute to run down and get the prescription refilled. There’s an all-night drugstore on Florida.”

“I don’t want you to leave me. I’m afraid something will happen. I think I’m ready.”

“Are you getting labor pains?”

“No, but there’s a lot of movement and my back aches way down there,” and she moved her hand down to the small of her back.

“Honey, it’s only about a mile away. I can run down there and be back in fifteen minutes. Nothing can possibly happen in that time.” He stood up and began dressing.

“Where's B.B.? B.B.! B.B.!” she called.

A little taffy-colored, smooth-haired terrier came slowly out from under the foot of the bureau, looking a little scared and shame-faced. B.B. used to belong to a woodcarver who stayed up here all year round. Last winter that man came down with heart trouble. Solo saw B.B. kind of wandering around lonesomelike and took him in. He came toward Solo, jumped on the bed beside him and licked his face. “You're a fine watchdog.”

“He’s a killer and got more sense than you have.” She turned on her side and watched him, her eyes wide with the pain. “What has happened to me?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said, slipping into his trousers. “You’re just going through a tough period.”

“I’m becoming neurotic.”

“No, you’re not. Now just relax and I’ll be right back. If the headache gets worse, why don’t you get up and have some coffee. Might do you some good.” He finished buttoning the sport shirt and moved over to the bed. She tried to smile when he kissed her forehead.

“Don’t run,” she said, as he hurried across the room. “There’s no emergency.”

“I’ll take Finn and Nodin with me,” he said. “And you take it easy.”

It was one o’clock in the morning when he arrived at the all-night drugstore. He waited while the short, heavy-set pharmacist examined the prescription through thick-lensed spectacles, then looked up and smiled a professional and knowing smile.

“Is this for yourself?”

“No. My wife.”

“Migraine can be a terrible burden on a person. My mother had migraines for twenty years. Needed a great deal of care and attention. Sometimes it would just about drive her out of her mind. Very bad, indeed.” And he shook his head and pursed his lips.

“Could you hurry, please?” Solo asked. He was having trouble with his breathing. He felt weak and dizzy after the mile-long run.

“Has your wife tried peppermint tea?”

“No.”

“Ginger? Very good, you know. That’s what my mother took. This Paracetamol never did her any good.”

“Please hurry,” Solo said, more sharply this time. He leaned against the counter for support.

The pharmacist’s magnified eyes stared at him for a moment. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Solo said. “But please ball the jack with the prescription.”

Suddenly, time seemed vitally important to him. He had to get back home. Something was happening inside of him that he could not quite understand. But if he were going to be sick he wanted to be home when it happened.

He watched the pharmacist move slowly to a cabinet. “Do you want one hundred one-grams or fifty four-grams?”

“Fifty, please.”

The pharmacist came back to the counter. He took a label from a glass container and carefully placed it into the typewriter. Slowly, methodically, using only one finger, he typed out the instructions. Then he raised the label to his mouth and his tongue flicked across it. He looked up and smiled.

“Taste like cherry,” he said. “It’s a big improvement from that old mucilage taste.” He held onto the package, smiling at Solo.

“How much is it?”

“You know, you ought to consider ginger. Have your wife ask her doctor about it. It’s a lot easier to take with honey and brews easily into a tea. It’s a root. All you need is a little water. This Paracetamol is a nuisance. You know, tablet and all. Ginger will go to work just as fast, too. Maybe even a little faster. Have your wife ask her doctor.”

“I will,” Solo said, fighting against the dizziness sweeping over him.

“You won’t be sorry.”

“I promise,” Solo said. “Now, please, how much do I owe you?”

“Oh, let me see, now. I’ve got a price list here somewhere. Not much call for this stuff, you know. Now, ginger, I could tell you the price just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

“Please,” Solo said. “Can’t you understand? I’m in a hurry!”

“Won’t take a second. I got the list here someplace. Oh, here it is. Fifty tablets, four milligrams… that’s two dollars and eighty-five cents… plus tax, of course. Now, let me see, that’s two percent tax. Two times two, that’s four, plus two, that’s six cents, plus two eighty-five... that’s two dollars and ninety-one cents.”

By this time Solo could barely focus on him. He dropped three singles on the counter and snatched the package out of the startled pharmacist’s hand.

“Wait! You’ve got change coming,” he called, but Solo did not hear him. 

He was already running down Florida Avenue.

At one o’clock in the morning, Florida Avenue was as dead as Recoleta Cemetery. It was like any other small town. The sidewalks were rolled up at midnight and everyone either went home to bed or somewhere else for kicks. Cabbies had long ago abandoned the area for lusher territory like Córdoba, Corrientes or Nueve de Julio Avenues. This Friday morning was no exception. 

Solo did not stop running until he reached the corner of Rivadavia Avenue. Finn “The Gent” (also, The Troubadour), Solo’s most trusted soldier, a hulking Cockneyed Nigerian bruiser, and his sidekick “Two Gun” Nodin, a tightly-wound ferret with a chip on his shoulder the size of the national debt, raced after him, footsteps echoing down the deserted street. Solo tried to watch the blaze of lights that always gets the out-of-towner down the avenue. It became extremely important to him. If only he could focus on the lights, clear his vision then maybe he would be alright. He stood on the sidewalk, his tall, thick body leaning forward, his eyes narrowed to slits, desperately trying to focus on the disappearing spots of neon. But the more he concentrated on them the more blurred they became.

It was then that the real pain hit him.

It arrived full force.

It felt as though a small bomb had exploded in his chest. This was a strange pain, something he had never before experienced. He knew he had to get off the street and he started walking up Rivadavia Avenue. Suddenly, he felt very calm. It was as though he had expected it. And he knew exactly where the pain was and how large it was. His hand went to his chest and he pressed against the pain, trying to relieve it, but it was no good. Somehow the dizziness had gone and there was only the pain, hot and piercing. He stopped near the entrance to a parking lot and took a deep breath. It was not so bad after all.

Then a second bomb exploded, right next to the first one, and he felt himself go limp.

He staggered into the parking lot, away from the streetlights, and sat down in the heavy darkness.

A third bomb exploded.

All three explosions merged into one burning, searing pain moving across his chest. It was difficult for him to breathe, and he struggled against the pain, hoping that it would soon disappear.

But the next thing he knew, his arms had become numb, and he pinched them, trying to stimulate the circulation. For a fleeting moment, he was afraid to die. The awareness of death swept over him, and he saw a vision of himself dead. Embalmed. Lying stiff, like a wax statue, in a coffin. And he saw Rey leaning over his coffin, weeping.

The thought sent stark terror shooting through him. He fought against it, against death itself. He was too young to die: thirty-one. 

That was not even middle age. He was so young and had so much to live for. Rey and the child. The child they had waited two and a half years to conceive. On a blanket on the purple ground of jacarandá blossoms as imploring angels, tearful Madonnas and Argentinian heroes of the church and cemetery looked on, they had made love quickly, hotly, her dress pulled up, his feet braced on the ground, trousers around his ankles. His pants melded with the moans of the Rey’s. Then he remembered Rey’s headache and he tried to get up. But it was no use. No use at all. He sat in the darkness and waited for the pain to release him.

Ben Solo sat in the darkness, his back against the brick wall of the building on the south side of the parking lot. He waited for the burning pain in the center of his chest to subside. At first he was aware of the passing time, then he lost track of it. The only one thing that was real and important was the pain part. It became an entity, a part of him, like the growth of another organ. Except this was the only organ. There was nothing else. Only the pain and the mind that felt that pain. And the two had become one.

It was then that he saw the two men running and they found him. They watched silently, in concern.

“You feel alright?” Finn the Gent trembled, in a whisper. “You having one of those mindgrains like the Missus?”

“Knock the boiler,” Solo croaked.

Solo was putting on his shirt in the emergency room. He looked considerably better, but impatient. Hospitals always made him uneasy. It was a scary place. He knew about the white coats and the stiffs transported down the hall to the nearest staff elevator and taken directly to the morgue, which was usually located in the basement of course, and everywhere he looked, there could have been a white coat. Finn the Gent was sitting down, tapping his own knee with the little rubber hammer. Nothing happened.

Doctor Evazan, the cardiologist — a plain, harassed man — entered. “Good news, Mr. Ren! Your heart is just fine.”

“How could it be fine? I’ve had eight heart attacks in the last three weeks.”

“Well, based on everything, you probably suffered a spell of nerves.”

Solo turned to water. He stood there in a daze, trying to think, trying to move. He was like a fighter taking the count, trying to get up before the fatal tenth second. Then he snapped. He stared at the doctor. “What?”

“I said, there’s a psychological, not physiological, angle to your problem that we have overlooked. And I think it explains everything. You see, in ancient times, a sort of sacred birth custom would take place preceding the arrival of a child, where the man would experience the ritual of ‘labor’ in which he took to bed, and underwent periods of fasting and purification. In some tribes it was attributed to the efforts of warding off demons or spirits from the mother or to seek favor of supernatural beings for the child. I can give you a tranquilizer if it happens again soon—”

“Look at me,” Solo said, menacingly, “Do I look like a jitterbug?”

The doctor was nervous now. “There’s nothing — I mean — it’s not unique to housewives—”

“Where did you go to medical school? You’re not talking to some cornfed Clyde, savvy? I’ve been around. I had a heart attack, you quack bastard.”

The doctor was very scared now. “Well, not according to these—”

As Solo moved toward the doctor, Finn the Gent instinctively grabbed Doctor Evazan from behind and held him while Solo wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his neck.

Solo spoke low and deadly, pumping up the cuff with the squeeze-ball. “Listen to me, you prick. I had a mild heart attack and now it’s over. You understand?”

Doctor Evazan nodded vigorously, his eyes bugging out as the pressure around his neck increased. 

“If my wife asks you, you never saw me, and I was never here. A girl in her condition has too many people depending on her! She’s got to stay in a room with a certain temperature and get a certain amount of sleep — nine hours! The book said.”

“What book, Boss? You haven't been reading any books!” Finn the Gent laughed.

“I don't want to take any chances.”

Finn the Gent shrugged. “Is the boss-man clear, doc?”

“Yes,” Doctor Evazan said, strangled. 

“Good,” Solo said, then looked to Finn, “Take the chart.”

Finn the Gent released the doctor, grabbed all the papers and followed Solo out the door.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.

  
The Gent drove Solo home in the 1961 Falcon. Yellow with black upholstery. Wire wheels, dual exhausts, Continental kit. The works for eleven G’s. He waited outside while Solo went into the house and was greeted by B.B., the dog. The dog came romping from his perch on Rey’s lap to meet Solo and bounded into his arms. Carrying the dog, he was barking with delight. B.B. seemed to have a particular desire to lick Solo’s nose. Rey was sitting drinking coffee at the kitchen table when Solo came in. She tried to smile, but Solo could see that she was in excruciating pain, and he was genuinely alarmed.

Rey got up and went into the bedroom without speaking. She stretched out on the bed, her face buried into the pillow, her arms grabbing it tightly. Solo and the dog watched her exit, silently. With a glare at the dog, Solo followed her into the bedroom. The door closed. Solo bolted the door. He went to the window, pulled closed the curtains, then moved swiftly over to Rey. He clutched her hand tightly, rubbed her back, crooned love-words over her.

“Ben!” she said with difficulty.

“I’m here, baby.”

Under Solo’s ministrations, Rey was gaining control. 

“You’re taxing yourself too much. It’s no good. Skippin’ meals. Makes it hard to sleep. Let’s go away, hon.”

“I’m alright now.”

“Is it goin’? Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she shook her head. “Like havin’ a buzzsaw inside my head.” She started to rise.

“Not yet, Countess.”

“Always worryin’ about me.”

She sat back on the bed. While Solo poured her a drink of water she rubbed away the last traces of pain. Solo handed her the drink with pill. 

“Dip your whiskers in that.”

“Don’t know what I’d do without ya, Ben.” She downed the drink.

“Better?” She nodded. He raised her nightgown and slowly kneaded into and adjusted her lumbar region. He felt a shiver go through her as he pressed down.

“That does it,” he said, trying to be cheerful. And he gently and affectionately patted her on the buttocks. She didn’t move and he caressed her for a moment, marveling at the softness of the skin, his hand moving down into the inside of her thighs.

“Don’t, please,” she sighed, turning over on her back. “I look awful.”

“You look beautiful to me,” he said. “You always do.” And he passed his hand over the swelling of her stomach.

“Do you always go around leaving your fingerprints on a girl’s getaway sticks, mister? Not that I mind particularly. You’ve got nice, big strong hands.”

“Well, I’ll tell ya, little girl,” he played along. “Whenever I’m caught, it’s always an accident. Like, uh, maybe I don’t feel so good, you know. Or maybe I’m not concentratin’. I’ve been tapped a couple, three times.”

“Three times?”

“Yeah, it’s part of the business. Red side of the ledger.”

“I once knew a — I mean, I once heard of a fella who was in jail three times. A bank robber. Handsome with high pockets. It was hard to spot his fingers in action, a hustler of his rating. It couldn’t be done, they said. But a guy did it. You know how she did it? She was watching him. She waited with the eons of patience. Till he was itchin’ for it. The next time they pinched him, he struck out and they locked him up for good.”

“That’s the way it goes. There’s a law about three-time losers. Fourth conviction means life.”

“You mean if they caught you, picking my purse, you could be sent up for life?”

“Nothin’ happens when I’m concentratin’.”

“Don’t give me no double-talk. You got fingers like an artist.”

“Mm-hmm…”

“Soft and smooth.”

“In my business, you’ve got to keep ‘em that way. And when they stay empty, they get nervous.”

She pushed his hand away and reached for the covers, bringing them up to her chin. “Now I feel a little safer,” she said, trying to laugh, but the pain was still with her and Solo noticed how the muscles on the left side of her face were contorting.

“It won’t be long now,” he said. “You’ll feel fine.”

He went back into the bathroom and replaced the pill bottle in the medicine cabinet. He felt better now and looked at himself in the mirror. His skin looked white and pasty, and his eyes were bloodshot. For a moment he started taking his pulse, but quickly gave it up. He had forgotten about the count. He didn’t remember whether it was supposed to be sixty-eight or ninety-eight. Anyway, it wouldn’t help anything. Besides, except for a minor headache, he felt normal enough. 

Boy, I wish I could trade you in, and I could use another model. Aw, it’s not your fault. It’s not my fault. It’s just the breaks, that’s all. Why am I scared? Why am I all the time scared now? I’m all the time scared. Oh, man, I’ve had a long haul. How many nights in a tank? How many nights in stir? How many nights in a cheap, lousy little room? Four bucks a night to roast to death. Eye twitcher. Scared, nervous little eye twitcher. Hey, Doc! You ain’t no judge of people, Doc! You ought to peel cantaloupes. You ought to stick with apples and oranges, Doc, because you ain’t no judge of people! Ben Solo the popcorn thief! Hey, Ben Solo, yellow punk! I know you, Ben Solo, you ain’t no yellow punk. But you got to be brave tonight. Take it on the chin. So you do the job and you’re licked anyway, because you know you never got away with anything. It was supposed to be live for today and that’s how it ended. Because there couldn’t be a tomorrow for those who only lived for today. Remember? A man with no future and no past. Boy, I wish I could trade you in... No matches. Cigarettes and no matches, that’s me all over. That’s Ben Solo, the halfway boy. That’s the story of my life.

_You’re not running out on me this time._

You talking to me? Who, you... Yeah, sure you are. Now me and the mirror, we’re having a talk. I’ve had it, heh? All my marbles are gone. This it how it happens. This...

_Yeah, this is how it happens, but you ain’t lost your marbles yet, and I mean to see that you keep them._

Who are you? 

_I’m you, Benny, and you’re me._

Ren? How’s that? You’re me and I’m you? Oh, this is crazy. This is real crazy. This is crazy! Crazy! 

_Benny! I’m part of you, Benny. Another part of you. Don’t you even remember me? You used to know me, a long time ago, Benny. A very long time ago, you were up for grabs. You could have gone one way or the other. You could have gone my way or your way. You went your way. You know what that means, Benny?_

No, I don’t.

_Your way. A cheap, weak, scared half vulture, all mouse. That’s what you are, Benny._

Alright, so knock me. So I’m this and I’m that, I’m this and I’m that. Look, here, buddy. Whatever I am, I got flesh and bones and I breathe. And just in a few weeks, Fate is gonna put the finger on me! So... What do you do for a living, heh? Haunt people in mirrors, heh? Better tune me in and get my signal right, boy. Listen to me. I’m having an argument with a big piece of glass. Listen, Ren, I’m leaving. See, I’m pulling out. I’m pulling out. I’ve had it with you. I’m a mouse, heh? Well, you’re nothing!

_Benny... Benny, don’t pass out on me now. Benny, we’ve got a big night ahead of us. Where you going?_

What’s it to you?

_Everything. Everything you do is everything to me. Can’t you get that?_

Oh, yeah. Yeah, now I get it. I’m talking to myself.

_That’s just who you are talking to. Part of yourself, the part you never let come out anymore._

Now, listen, buddy. You got no invitation to come out now, so you can go right back where you came from. Who needs you?

_You do. You’ve always needed me._

Wait a minute. Now I get it. Yeah, now I get it. You’re chicken, too. You’re scared I’ll get caught same as me. You’re scared this is the last job, so you make a big noise like a conscience so the big man don’t say you’ve been goofing off all my life.

_It means more than that to me, Benny. You think I can keep quiet now while you go out and get us both cooked?_

Cooked?

_That’s right. You said so yourself. You never got away with nothing, and you know you won’t get away with this. And I got a right to live._

Well, you had the same chances as me, no chance. So, if I’m wrong, and you’re right, then how come every move I made turned out wrong? How about that, heh?

_Because, every time I tried to talk to you, you listened to somebody else. That was your mistake._

Okay, wiseguy, you know so much, then how come you don’t know the big thing? 

_Big thing?_

Don’t you ever look in a mirror? I was a runt. I was a skinny little runt. When you want to join a street gang, you got to go along with them. You back down, they give you business. They call you a chicken and yell, “You ain’t got it! You ain’t no kid of Han Solo’s!” 

_Yeah, you went along with them. And you made me go along, too. The first time, we were ten years old. Remember that? The class picnic? The teacher had a locket, and the catch broke, and she laid it down, and some of the big kids dared you to swipe it._

Well, I didn’t want to swipe it. I told you, I was a runt. They dared me. 

_And a year later, they dared you to knock into that grocery store with them, and you went along, and you dragged me along, too. And we got caught. And you spent the next eight months in reform school, and so did I. What did that prove, Benny?_

Yak, yak, yak, yak. Talk my ear off. No wonder I kept you down. You’re walking on your lower lip all the time. What do you want from me anyway? 

_You know what I want._

No, I don’t. But I tell you what I do know. I got to go out and do a job. I got to do this thing. I ain’t got much time now.

_You got less time than you think. But you never had time. You didn’t have time when that parole officer tried to help you. You could have listened to him, but you joined another gang. Six months later, you were in jail again, and that parole officer couldn’t help you any more than Rey can._

Rey. Rey. She’s a nice kid. 

_She’s a beautiful woman. She’s trying to set you straight. I love her, Ben. I love Rey Solo._

You love her? You got a nerve. How can you love anybody? You’re just a piece of glass.

_I can love, Ben. I can love. I need her Ben. So do you. I tried to tell you how much we needed her, but you graduated from your pop’s gang into the shakedown rackets. Big shot, heh? Twelve years we spent in the pen on that last one. And, when we got out an angel was waiting on the other side, picked you up and dusted you off. She’ll flap out of your life, Ben. Out of_ our _life. Don’t cheat me out of her — out of them._

Don’t tell me your troubles. It’s nothing to me. A girl like her deserves the best. And the best comes high. I _always_ take care of her!

_Taking care of her, heh? That’s a statement for the press. You wouldn’t want to have a wife to answer to, would you, Benny? Somebody sweet and pretty. Somebody who would love you. Somebody who would be kind and gentle with you and keep you out of dutch. You don’t need that, do you, Benny?_

Why don’t you cut it out? Will you do that? Will you knock it off? What do you want from me anyway? I’m asking you, what do you want from me? I’m still waiting to hear. What do you want from me? 

_I want to take over, Ben. I want to call the shots. I want you to let me out. I want a chance to live. I want to live with all the guts and goodness you left behind. I want to live the dreams you’ve dreamed and never had the guts to live._

Fat chance, buster. Big fat chance. I’m me and you’re you! And that’s no statement for the press. That’s the goods. I’m going out to get the biggest gambler in town, and I mean big, no limits. I got two hundred, thousand dollars on me and I’m hot for a game. I’m ready to bet any part of it. He’s bringing his friends, and I’m going to cut me a slice of cabbage for my troubles. I’m calling the shots! And neither you or anybody else is telling Ben Solo what to do! Neither you or anybody else! Hey! Hey, there. Hey, where are you? Hey, Ren, come on out here. Come on. Do your job now. Hey, come on, I want to see how I look, Ren. Come on.

_It don’t make any difference, Benny. Because you’re not going anywhere. You go out that door, you’re finished. We’re both finished. That’s the door to nowhere. Benny, Benny, let me out! I want to take over. I got to take over! I want a decent job, some friends._

I’m working on a job. I got friends. I got everything I want. Plenty of dough. Plenty of action. 

_You got nothing. You got nothing but a pain inside. You got no friends, the lot of them. You got nothing! You are nothing! It’s time to be something. Benny, let me out. Let me take over, Benny. This is your last chance._

Alright, I’ll let you out of there. Come on out of there, wiseguy. Come on out! What a phony. You’re a liar! Hey, what’s to do now?

_What’s to do now? Now we go look for a square job. Now maybe we be a husband. Now maybe we stop twitching our eye._

He took a couple of aspirin and then went into the bedroom.

Rey was sitting up in the bed, smiling. She held out her arms and he went to her and sat down on the bed.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” she asked. “I feel better now. It’s as if someone had actually extracted a horrible monster from my head.” She held him tightly in her arms. “I love you,” she whispered. “You’re so good to me.”

“I’m sorry I took so long,” he said, pulling away from her. “There’s something I have to get off my chest.”

“What is it?” she asked, her eyes worried.

“Well,” he said, hesitating. “I really don’t know how to tell you.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, now really worried. “Did something happen?”

“I was buzzed by germsville,” he said, quickly, wanting to get it over with. “I was scared. I was palpitating. Me and my phony palpitations, me... A little palpitating never hurt anybody. What’s there to be scared about? The thing up here has obviously gone tilt or something. Then I passed out. It was a terrifying experience.”

“Oh, Ben!” she said, and held him tightly. “Did they see you?”

“Who?” he asked, “Only amateurs are spotted.”

She stared at him, horrified. “You know who!”

“No, I don’t,” he said, surprised by her reaction.

“The big boys just give a couple of plumbers your address and that’s it. If the first set of plumbers don’t fix the leak, they send another set. You didn’t squawk to the peepers, did you?”

“Me, cutting loose with some static? What do I look like, a radio? What do I always say? Stay cool, hang loose, admit nothing. That wasn’t just a breezy routine. I got the jumps.”

“Oh, Ben,” and she was crying, holding onto him, her body trembling against his.

“Rey! What’s the matter?”

“Those men will kill you.”

“Now, wait a minute.” He tried to laugh. “Aren’t you being a little melodramatic? This is not the movies, you know. Things like that don’t really happen to law-abiding citizens.”

“Ben, you’re so naïve.”

“Just a minute. I don’t think I like that. I just happen to think that we’re living in a civilized world now. You’ve seen too many gangster movies.”

She stopped crying and stared at him. “That’s what I mean,” she said. “You really believe that. You think that gangsters only exist in the movies. Did you really pass out?”

“Yes, I really passed out. And no, I don’t think gangsters exist only in the movies. All I said was we’re law-abiding citizens, solid and secure, and nobody else knows about the money. I’m too slick. I got it fixed. We are in no danger. So please don’t be afraid. Everything will be alright. As long as we keep our noses clean and toe the mark down here. And that’s going to be the end of it.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said. “I hope to God you’re right.”

“I am. Please believe that. Now I have to go. The Gent’s waiting outside for me. Look, I’m gonna promote this nightclub like it’s never been promoted. Signs on every street, ads in all the big magazines. And you watch those stinkers run for cover! How about that? Me, a big legitimate businessman! On the up and up, that’s me. You go to sleep. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He leaned forward and kissed her. Her arms went around his waist and she crushed him against her swelling stomach, her soft lips demanding against his.

When Mr. Kylo Ren came out, formerly a reflection in a mirror, a fragment of someone else’s conscience, a wishful thinker made out of glass, but now made out of flesh, and on his way to join the company of men, Kylo Ren, with one foot through the door and one foot out, Finn was listening to a soap opera program. It had been on the air for twenty minutes now and the announcer sounded slightly bored.

“They’re having an awful round!” Finn turned it down and smiled at Solo. “Everything alright, Boss?”

“Yes, my wife is much better. I’m the one that needs rewiring.”

“Fine,” Finn said. “Now we can get some work done.”


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.

The Solos lived in a French-styled penthouse apartment between Alvear and Quintana Avenues in Buenos Aires. It was a large apartment, according to Parisian standards, with crystal chandeliers, _boiserie_ paneling, parquet floors, a double living room, library-den combination, kitchen with breakfast nook, four bedrooms, each featuring a private marble-clad bathroom with gold plated taps, and more doors in each room than was necessary. Their office, where they flopped, was all silk too. The master bathroom was the only room the Solos did not think was too large. It was a small room with a sunken tub and separate shower stall, twin cabinet sinks and all of it furnished in a gaudy pink and black tile that reached almost to the seventeen-foot ceiling. In the two years that they had occupied the apartment, they had come to regard it with a feeling of pride and ownership as if it were their home. Slowly, they had been able to furnish it with good modern furniture and Argentine gimcracks that they both loved. It was not too expensive, except for one McCobb chair they had purchased in a moment of weakness, but it was all strong and sturdy and functional, with straight simple lines that would be in the style for years to come.

Furnishing the house had taken a long time, but it had been fine. They had took a little from their pension funds, some of which was stashed beneath graves in the Cemetery, and at the end of every month, they went out and bought another piece. Now, the apartment was completely furnished, and the rest went into the bank to await the arrival of the baby. They had already bought the crib and bathinette and had rearranged the bedroom to accommodate these new pieces. There also was a new chest of drawers painted pink with blue decals of rabbits and various farmyard animals.

When Solo came out of the bathroom that morning, Rey was sitting at the dining table holding B.B. in her lap, reading the newspaper. Her face looked pinched and tired. Her light brown hair was pulled back in a thick, luxurious ponytail that despite the pregnancy and her twenty-two years still made her look like a teenage fluff.

She had been awake when he had come in that night, and he had tried to explain to her that the racket was dead, he was giving it the works and going legitimate, to do his duty as a citizen should in a society governed by laws. Rey cried. Not only did she like the idea, but she had been praying for it. _Prayed._ No more staying awake nights worrying about him, watching him go out the door wondering if he was coming back, or having her heart jump up into her mouth every time the phone rang. For the first time in their lives they were going to be real people. Different kind of people. Solo, Rey, and the baby. 

And he tried to tell her that there was no danger, that the criminals were dead and would stay dead, that even if they had somehow survived, which is why he kept his front door unlocked in case any of those sons-of-bitches ever wanted to stop by, he'd have his muscle men paintin’ the house next door and doin’ the carpentry. Around the clock. He was gonna protect her and the baby against harm if it took twenty coats. What was so hard to understand? She had listened to him, her eyes grave, and unbelieving. Solo couldn’t protect them, she said. Nobody could really protect them if the underworld somehow found out and wanted to kill them. He couldn’t live with Finn and Nodin at his side twenty-four hours a day. And even if he could, they were not God. They too could be killed. The argument had gone on for most of the night and nothing had been resolved. Anyway, he figured best to keep dead leaves off the lawn.

Rey looked up when he came into the living room and she smiled a warm, tender smile.

“Good morning,” he said, happily, going to the table to kiss her.

“Good morning, darling,” she said, taking his kiss, her eyes closing, her arms holding his head down a moment longer than the usual morning kiss.

“What’s for breakfast,” he asked sitting down next to her.

“This morning, you get a big, hot bowl of oatmeal. I’m out of eggs.”

“Sounds good,” he said, glancing at the newspaper in her hands.

She caught the glance and smiled. “You made the front page, but I’m not sure I like the pictures. You look so grim.”

“I felt pretty grim,” he said. “I think there must have been a little mix up. I told that reporter there couldn't be any pictures. It was just s’posed to be a little story or article or something.”

“Here,” she said, handed him the paper. “I’ll get your oatmeal. How many toasts do you want?”

“Oh, two will be fine. Always stay one ahead, you’ll never go hungry: That’s planning.”

He watched her walk into the kitchen and wondered why she had tried so hard to avoid the subject. Last night she had been almost hysterical. This morning, she was calm and composed. He shook his head, his eyes puzzled, and opened the newspaper. The headline ran across eight columns at the top of the front page in bold black type:

**PHILANTHROPY FOR THE 21st CENTURY**

And under that in a two-column sub-head:

**THE NEW RICH BECOME YOUNG PHILANTHROPISTS OF A ‘NEW STRIPE’; TODAY’S COUNTERPART TO THE SIENAR AND FEL FOUNDATIONS AS A MORAL LANGUAGE**

Solo looked up from the paper and glanced into the kitchen. Rey was standing in front of the large white gas stove, stirring the cooking oatmeal, watching him, her large hazel eyes worried. She tried to smile when she caught his look but nothing happened. Her facial muscles refused to obey. Slowly, she turned back to the stove and quickened her stirring of the oatmeal.

Solo turned back to the newspaper and began reading the story, his eyes moving quickly over the words, finding a strange detachment in the wording about himself. It was like any other morning. It was the newspaper and the people it told about or strangers, just people you read about. People you didn’t know and never would know, because the world you lived in was small. Just one block, and even then, you didn’t know one tenth of the people living there with you. He was just a ghost to the neighbors, who had no idea he had once been a slick and ingenious crook who had planned successful bank and payroll robberies, the ringleader in the largest casino robbery in American history. 

It was a long story, dwelling on the sensational details of industrialists with enough long bread to burn a wet mule. Solo’s eyes lingered on two paragraphs: 

**Kylo Ren, man-about-town and well-known club operator and figure in the sporting world, pledged twenty thousand each to two universities and an orphanage this month. That figure tops the highest amount donated in 1961.**

**Mrs. Ren has created several charities to support education, human rights, social entrepreneurship, the development of technology to benefit chronically ill children, and other causes.**

It was chicken-feed to Solo. The money they gave away he and Rey got it with the rats and mice in a few dice-joints. Rey came in and placed a steaming bowl of oatmeal in front of Ben, then sat down across from him at the dining table. He put down the paper and looked up at her, smiling.

“Eat your cereal before it gets cold,” she said.

B.B. ambled over, sat up.

“A born panhandler.” He gave B.B. a piece of toast. B.B. took it but dropped it on the floor.

“Everybody around here stuffs that mutt till it’s getting so he won’t eat anything but a porterhouse.”

“That’s a fact…” Solo laughed. Did you read the story?” he asked.

“Yes. Ms. Bliss — she’s the dame who knifed me in her society column last month — said it was nice to read the paper without a murder for once...”

“Hey, that’s right! Wanna have her iced? I have that kind of jack now.”

“Ah, thanks, hon.”

“That’s alright, baby.”

“I mean no, Ben!”

“Why not?”

“That’s a hangover from the old days. Let her alone. There’s a lot of things you have to do for business, Ben. She puts the club in the upper bracket. Not with money, but with a blue book, and that’s real security.”

“She’s the high-hattin’, cake-eatin’, hag-faced tramp that gave the boys in the joint a bad time last week and circulated the rumor I was serving chemical beer.” Solo trembled, fighting his lust for revenge, as Rey moved to his side.

“They’re not all like that. You know when I was born? I don’t know, either. Sometime in 1939. I went to work when I was twelve years old. Twelve years old and twelve hours a day. You know why? Because my old lady wanted beer money so bad I figured she wouldn’t beat me. ‘Cause I wouldn’t be able to work. But she was so dumb she didn’t figure it out. I made a mistake. So that’s what I say. Let her alone.”

“What happened to her? Your mother.”

“She got everything back. Everything she handed out. You know what? She couldn’t take it. They used to wear those skirts. Hobble skirts, they called ‘em. She went running out into the hall. I guess she was so drunk she couldn’t see a hole in a ladder. I don’t know. We lived on the second floor. Thirty-three steps. I used to count ‘em when I came home. Thirty-three steps... and she lay there at the bottom of the stairs like a bundle of laundry when they picked up the mug on her... a bundle of laundry...”

“I don’t care about myself so much, but what about the boys? What’s going to happen to them? All those other people I’ve helped? Simple, honest people who believe in me. They say I’ve given them hope.”

“I’m not thinking about them. They’ll make out alright. But you won’t—” She clutched his arm with an agonized gesture.

“Have you added extortion to your other talents? You’re making me very nervous.”

“Hey, Ben. You must’ve met a lot of guys. On jobs, I mean.”

“That’s possible.”

“Have you ever known a guy that just didn’t want it and quit? You know, made a lot of money and bought a business or something.”

“Sure. That’s what Han did.”

“How come he never did it before?”

“He did. Couple of times. Once we even had a farm.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, things happen, that’s all. I don’t know. He got to feelin’ like a square and the money wasn’t too good...”

“What do you sell?”

“What?”

“What do you sell.”

“Booze. Beer. You know, a good time.”

“I thought you were a better liar.”

“Come on. It’s really none of your business what I’m doing.”

“Ben. You _made_ it my business.”

“Is this about that payback crack? I was just kidding.”

“With what kind of money? Or is that not listed on the menu?”

“Take it easy now. I’ve had a real tough morning. I think you’ve got too much imagination. Always watchin’ me like a flatfoot.”

“Isn’t it funny? I don’t think I know you at all sometimes.”

“I’m no different.”

“When we were at the doctor’s, is that when it started?”

“Will you stop acting like I’m a gangster or something?”

“And our boyfriends Finn and Nodin?”

“I can’t testify to how often they take a bath, if that’s what you mean.”

“Alright, Ben. What are you?”

“Let me state it, once and for all. I am not a mobster, a hired fingerman for the syndicate, or a thug. I am merely a businessman who owns a number of legitimate businesses, and sometimes likes to make a bet or two. No more, no less. And that’s a dose of straight talk. Look at me. It’s starting again, the shakes. I was living a calm, quiet, anti-social life. Then you come along, like school was out, and busted up all my plans.”

“I know. You’ve spent your whole life becoming who you are and now you can’t be that anymore. That’s got to be scary. If you’re not Ben Solo, the bank robber, who are you?” Solo was at a loss. “Well, let’s think. When you were a kid, what did you want to be?”

“I don’t know. Who remembers that stuff?”

“You must’ve wanted to be something when you were little — fireman? Baseball player? Scientist?”

“No.”

“Han Solo?”

“Yeah, maybe. What did you want to be?”

“When I was a tiny girl? And people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up? I never said the usual things little girls say — like — nurse — ballerina — stenographer? I always said—” and she spoke in a very Shirley Temple voice, “‘When I grow up, I want to go to Mr. Lum’s and bring back a load of chop.’” She laughed happily at the memory.

“Putting on the feedbag was your childhood aspiration? I’ll gladly buy you a chop suey joint.”

“Well, not just lining my flue with chow fun and cha siu bao at the Oriental dancehall. I was lookin’ to latch onto some big dumb guy, who could give me a job, with lots of cabbage and a certain amount of respectability… worth shaking down. A little bunco. And I guess my dream came true.”

“I'm happy for you, pussy pie,” he said, taking the joke with good humor. 

“That’s why I love surprises. I came into this world so busted that if I got anything for Christmas it was a big surprise.”

“Figured it out and now you have everything licked.”

“No. Not everything.”

“Up down. Down up. It’s the same. You see things through both eyes.”

“So what did you want to be?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Alright, cue me. What is it?”

“Okay. When I was real little — like seven or eight — maybe I wanted to be a cowboy.”

“A cowboy?”

“Yeah. My old man gave me a cowboy suit. You know, the vest, the chaps, the cap guns. The whole act. And he used to take me up to my uncle’s farm in Tatooine and lead me around on this pony. Yippee-i-o. You happy now?”

“So you watched cowboy movies with your father.”

“Everybody. The whole family. My father loved Harry Carey.”

“Cherokee Harry.”

“ _Cheyenne_ Harry,” he corrected her.

“Cheyenne. So who were your favorite cowboys?”

“Gary Cooper, Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, the Lone Ranger—”

“The good guys.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You didn’t want to be the bad guy. You wanted to be the hero.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So what happened?”

“I don’t know. Nothing happened.”

“So why didn’t you buy a ranch in Texas and become a cowboy?”

“Like I told you, I grew up on the move and never stayed long enough in any one place to call it a home. I’d just wash my socks, do a little work and then move on. I joined the gang when I was fourteen and that was it.”

“Something else happened when you were fourteen. Something that made you very sad?”

“I don’t like playing games when I’m the fall guy. You might remember that.”

“Ben! Your father found himself, for no apparent reason, in the middle of a pistol battle with John Law! He bit it in broad daylight in the street in front of everybody! Right in front of you. Remember?”

“Do I remember? I think about every day of my life. It was the Ileenium job. Some say Han drew on the bulls first. While others believe that the cops were laying for us down at breadsville from the beginning. To this day, no one knows exactly what happened. What’s that got to do with it?”

“Are you smarter than Freud?”

“That psychopath again!” he shuddered.

“Han gave you a cowboy suit. With a white hat. He was a bank robber, but he wanted you to be a good guy, didn’t he?”

“Yeah. He did.”

“He didn’t want you tapping jugs. He only did it himself so you wouldn’t have to,” Rey said, taking a drink of coffee, “He was trying to buy you a better life than his.”

“He always said he wanted me to go to college. I didn’t even go to high school, but I dictate business letters everyday. I do business with college guys all the time. And when I talk, they listen. Christ, I wouldn’t have given a penny for that college crap. I used to say they pickled your brain in them colleges. Some of the kids made fun of me. It was pretty awful. You know how kids can be.” He put sugar and cream in his cereal and started to eat.

“I told you. A boy needs a father.”

“It’s just one of those tough breaks.”

“It’s okay, Ben. You can let go of it now. You didn’t murder him. That’s the life he chose.” 

Solo stared down at his bowl, trying to restrain himself. “No. Don’t. All my life people have been ascribing all kinds of motives to me. I used to think they were right, or all creeped up or they didn't dig, but—”

“You couldn’t save him, Ben. He was trying to save you. That’s why you fought like wildcats and had that big blow-up. He didn’t want this for you, and you don’t want that for the baby. You don’t want him to grow up the way you did — without a father. But your father’s not dead, Ben. He’s alive — in you. And he’s trying to tell you something: We can’t go back to being illegitimate.”

“You never miss, do you, baby?” he whispered.

“I thought you were smarter than that, Ben.”

“I guess as long as there’s you there are no smart guys.”

Rey watched him eat, looking at him as though she had never seen him before. What she saw was a tall, well-muscled man over six-two tall and perhaps twenty pounds overweight. She looked at the deep brown eyes, wide set, and there was thinking room between them, under the heavy dark eyebrows and was conscious of the low hairline and the thick, crew-cropped dark hair. His face was long and sensitive. His lips were full and his mouth generous, disclosing white, strong teeth when he talked or smiled. The only part of his face that was the least incongruent and insensitive was his nose. It was strong, almost rugged, with the small bump that twisted the broad bridge slightly to one side. Usually, like at the present moment, Ben wore a serious, intelligent expression that was somewhat grim, and then he would smile and his whole face would light up, giving him that almost boyish look. But it was the nose, she thought, that gave his face so much character. That took it out of the ordinary handsome-face category. He was a pinup if she ever saw one. He noticed her watching him and he wondered when she would ask the really important question. The one he couldn’t answer. And as if she had read his mind, she said, her voice low and soft. “What were you doing in the parking lot?”

He stopped eating, placed the spoon down on the table, and picked up his coffee. “Well,” he said, taking a sip of the hot coffee. “I had been running and… and I got a cramp in my stomach.” He put the coffee cup down and looked at her and smiled reassuringly. “I’m not in the same shape as I used to be. When you get to be my size you can’t run like a kid.”

“What kind of a cramp?” she asked, her tired eyes worried.

“Oh, you know. The usual thing. It kind of made me a little sick.”

“How long were you in the parking lot?”

“How long?”

“Finn said around two o’clock. You left here before one. Were you in the parking lot all that time?”

“I guess so,” he said. “But it was just a cramp, believe me.”

“Ben!” and she was across the table, kneeling down by his chair. “There’s nothing wrong with you, is there? You’re not keeping anything from me are you?”

“No, I’m not,” he said, running his fingers over her hair. “Please, don’t start worrying about that now. There’s nothing wrong. I swear it.”

“Oh, Ben,” and tears came into her eyes. “What’s going to happen to us?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Don’t cry, please.”

“I’m not,” she said, trying to smile, fighting against the tears that clouded her eyes. For a moment it looked as if she’d be alright, then the small face trembled and there was a quivering along the delicate jawline. She looked up at him bravely and he felt his heart tightening. Suddenly the whole brave face collapsed, twisting oddly, going all wrong. She lowered her head, and bit down hard on her lip, and before he could speak through the lump in his throat, her head fell on his lap, and he felt her flesh leaping and shuddering under his hand. She cried like that for a long time, and Ben leaning down over her, his face buried into the fresh scent of that luxurious brown hair. He waited for her to stop, feeling each shudder and sob telegraphed up his long muscled legs to his heart and he, too, wanted to cry. Cry for everything that had been so good, and for everything that had gone so crazy, so quickly. He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t. Because everything seemed so unreal, so unlike anything that had ever happened to him, that he still wasn’t sure that it was actually happening.

“Ben” she said, and the vibration of her voice sent shivers up his legs. “Couldn’t you see a dome doc?”

The question took him by surprise. Slowly, he raised her head so that she was facing him. “I couldn’t do that, honey. You know I couldn’t do that.”

“If not for me, then please, Ben, do it for the baby.”

“No,” he said. “I couldn’t do it. That’s all drool. They can’t help me. What would I tell them? I’m a crook? I’m a pushover? For posterity, you know. Simply for posterity.”

“Please, Ben, couldn’t you try?”

“No. Don’t ask me to do that. I just couldn’t.”

Slowly, she stood up and stared at him. This was not Ben Solo, the bank robber, she had known for over two years, the man she married and loved so dearly. This was Ben Solo, the fourteen-year-old kid who was mixed-up and restless with a lot of hard choices to make, someone speaking a familiar tongue, a language she could understand. The ties of communication had been unbreakable and she felt hopeful. She wanted so much to tell him of her fears, the danger that bloomed above them, and she could communicate. He did understand her language. Her own fears about the baby were completely forgotten. Now her fears were for Ben and his safety. She knew that she sounded melodramatic at times, like in some cheap gangster movie, but she also knew that she was right. People were not just good or just bad, but many things — and Ben Solo was many things. He was an outlaw, not a gangster. The tag was a misnomer. The distinction was critical. Decent, well-intentioned people who recognized the forces which drove them to break the law. All kinds of people. All you had to do was read the morning paper. Any morning.

That was the thing that puzzled her the most about Ben. He read the papers, read about crime and corruption, but he never seemed to associate it to just the dead. To him all men in public life were miserable, dirty and lowdown, had a sideline. They cheated the government most likely and society as a whole. Greedy, avaricious, fleet of foot who could run a four-minute mile so long as they were chasing a fast buck. They made believe they were an ally, but they weren’t at all. It was a beckoning come-on for a quick walk around the park. Solo refused to believe good about anybody. He lived in an unclean and dishonest world, anything to the contrary notwithstanding.

“I’m sorry, Ben,” she said, now, composed again. “I had no right to ask you that. I promise not to mention it again.”

She looked so small and brave standing there, he was proud of her. He wasn’t ready to talk yet, but she made him realize that he was a little kid, that’s all he wanted, and he could never figure it out with his father. It was all clear to him now: New choices, new things, new beginnings. He was ready. He was there front and center. He was ready to jump in with both feet. He stood up and took her in his arms and brought her face up to his.

“I love you,” he said. “I love you so goddamn much.”

She smiled and raised herself on tiptoes, her lips slightly parted, reaching up to him. He leaned down, his mouth closing over hers, and pressed down hard, feeling her lips open under the pressure. Suddenly she broke away, laughing a little timidly. 

“You better get ready. Finn will be here any minute now.”

The desire was still strong in him, but he smiled, his white strong teeth reflecting the sunlight streaming through the partly opened white curtains.

“He’s four minutes late already,” he said, going into the bedroom for his suit jacket. He came out, diamonds in his gold belt buckle and gold watch on his wrist, buttoning the jacket of his sharply-cut suit and picked up B.B. from a small modern desk that made the most of an awkward corner. This was where Rey did her designs, all of which were best-sellers in the shops, and tinkered with mechanical and electrical parts. Most of her clients came from big money, high society. She was very clever and pleased and even showed Solo how to make some soft money. It was her private office. The walls were lined with books and a Victorian sideboard was tucked neatly behind the work table. 

“Little devil! I guess everyone’s got a little larceny in ‘em.”

B.B. jumped to attention and raised his ears. 

“Down.”

B.B. dropped.

Solo faked action in the evenings while Rey sat on the sofa a few feet away, knitting or reading. Their one big luxury had been a high-fidelity radio. They had bought all the components and Rey had designed and built the cabinet herself. It was a handsome piece and gave a full rich tonal sound that was unequaled to factory-made sets costing five times as much. They enjoyed all kinds of music, particularly modern classical composers and jazz. Rey played the hi-fi all day long and there was always music at night, even when Solo was hard at work in his meetings. The music never interfered with his work. It had become part of him. During the summer they went to the Teatro Colón for the ballet and opera concerts, and sat in a box and had as much fun as any high school kids out on a date.

Rey heard the familiar sound of the ringing phone to let Solo know that the car was ready and came quickly forward for her parting kiss. She smiled at him, not as bravely as she wished, and he smiled and took her hand and bent down to kiss her.

“Take it easy,” he said, opening the door. “If you get any labor pains, get that Rose who burns The Gent up to drive you over to St. Jedi’s. And don’t forget to call me.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t forget. Finn and Rose, heh?”

“The other day, he comes to me and says, ‘Boss, I’ve got a date with a certain dame tonight with black hair an’ sloe-eyed an’ a figure that looks like a serpent with nerve trouble. Except for the fact that she’s wearin’ a lime-green frock job that was cut by a bozo that could wield a mean pair of shears, she might have been your favorite movie vamp, with dimples. She has the morals of an alley cat. This babe is the berries. And just my luck I’m busted — flat.’”

“Gee, that’s too bad.”

“‘I’ve been trying to date this dame for weeks,’ he says, ‘If I could put the bee on you for five hundred pesos...’”

“And what’d you do?”

“I dipped in the box and told him to watch his step. You know how Rose is.”

“Yeah, high-toned.”

“Okay, little mother, see you later.” He pinched her cheek gently and rode down the elevator and crossed the lobby, smiling to himself as he passed Finn the Gent hidden behind a newspaper to the waiting car.

“Bye,” she called softly, waving B.B.’s paw from the window until the car had disappeared around the corner.


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.

In those first months, they kept pretty much to themselves. They prowled through the shops and found a little movie house on the beach. They were on the run and went to places they never would’ve seen in their lives. And after a while, they grew a little more sure of themselves and drifted back to more familiar places. The ballparks, the fights and the racetracks. Why not? After all, it was a one chance in a million — two million — they’d bump into their past. 

To belong to the Skywalker-Solo Gang was just about the most there was. Guys were always trying to get in — but Han held it down to just six. He said too many guys and someone’ll be talking. And it don’t matter where we go, we’re ace-high and nobody tangles with us. He was a man of great efficiency who believed anyone who was in with him was entitled to his money’s worth. His intensive planning for the robberies meant securing the right team of confederates to work with him. A trailer court on the outskirts of Corellia had served as Han’s headquarters for the robberies. There he was to recruit his gang. He had already secured the services of Lando Calrissian, a boyhood companion and criminal on the run from police. Included in his plan were six experts on the questionable art of crime: Mr. Charles Threepio, expert in noxious gases, former professor with a doctorate in both chemistry and physics; Mr. Arthur Toohey, expert in mechanical engineering; Mr. Lando Calrissian, expert in the use of firearms and other weaponry; and Mr. Luke Skywalker, expert in demolition and various forms of destruction. Sometimes they had to separate. Han had a way of disappearing; it was an old family trait. It was one of the things he could really do. “A smart cannon lives quietly, boy. Don’t advertise when he just scored on an A1 job. Especially an ex-con like me. He always has a knack for living in out-of-way places. Places hard to find. It’s hard to run him down, the places he picks. It takes almost a week to run him down. And by that time, he’s already miles from there before anyone knows what hit ‘em. You’d have to follow him straight to hell.” So they went everywhere like newlyweds enjoying the countryside. Anxious, eager as hell to please, and usually tried to please too much. So things were inclined to go wrong. Sometimes they never got past the early adjustment. More often they struggled through and finally started clicking. 

It was like that with new gangs. You’d get some big fat scores, then some busts when something didn’t jell. A good outfit would soon be hitting those big boodles because the guys quickly acquired what they called “unity of feeling.” For example, the main brain guy felt what the box worker felt; the box worker felt the vibes of the box and the wheelman felt what everybody felt. Each crook like a precision instrument, anticipated the other, fell in with him, supported him, yes, and inspired him. As a result, there was never a rough spot or a letdown. 

She wore a tight-fitting blue suit on their wedding day and her brunette hair was done up in that ponytail fashion. The blue and brunette hair complemented each other. And that marvelous tan… Just resting for a few days. Laying under the sun. Things like that. He watched her, and his heart pumped. Both times. She gave him a polite kiss and he could tell she was wearing that perfume again. She had gazed at it all the way Balboa once looked at the Pacific Ocean. “It’s... it’s... beautiful!”

Even the cabbie turned around and smiled. “First time here, Señorita?”

“Oh, I’ve been in green places once or twice before. But here seems so fresh and new to me — glorious!”

They got out, paid off the cab and started walking downtown. It was one of those windswept March nights but, as always, the streets were crowded. She clung to his hand like a child afraid of getting lost. He didn’t write to his uncles or phoned or telegraphed. He just waited and moved. When it seemed right, they blew out of town to go and meet them. Young Solo wasn’t bad at the game himself and he was sure he had shaken any heat loose and they felt pretty good. The First Order was back there somewhere and he could see them again. They arranged to meet at a little cabin off the highway on Batuu Creek. It was dark when they got there. And then they saw two ancient shapes walking up the road with a pooch in the headlights. One was tall and dark, dressed in a polo shirt, V-neck sweater, and slacks. He assumed a superior air and was very proud of his tiny moustache and patent-leather hair. The enigmatic figure next to him was harder to make; he was small, hunched over, patting the dog on the head, which ran a tongue over his sandpapery lips, and fixed with swinging, glinting appendage.

“You old geezers want a lift? Don’t expect to make it in a couple of years at the way you’ve been promoting rides.”

It was a moment before Skywalker recognized Ben. Then his face showed real pleasure. A voice — old, dry, rasping, lightly accented of a long-gone Tatooine boyhood — seemed disembodied and sourceless, as if it was the voice of the gloom itself. “Well, we really hadn’t ought.” 

The arm extended toward Ben and the glinting appendage swung with it: it was a metal hook prosthesis that flexed down and into Skywalker’s suit sleeve.

Ben grinned. He took Skywalker’s offered hand, the other one time-kissed and roped with veins and sinew, and accepted its chilly shake. The Prime Minister. He was older now, silver-haired and silver-tongued, but Ben could see at once he had all his buttons on. He had the kind of penetrating blue eyes that were the windows of a cagey, shrewd, alert brain.

Chewie went over to Ben and sat up. Ben smiled, stooped over, and pet the dog.

Calrissian’s face lit up in genuine friendliness. He looked the two kids up and down, first Ben, then Rey, then Rey again. Ben never got another glance. Rey grinned before Calrission’s scrutiny. She just about knocked his eyes out. Ben smiled at what he considered a sucker move on Calrissian’s part.

“Maybe I ought to move into this place.”

“These cabins don’t have built-in brunettes, Lan.”

“She may not be built-in, but she’s built.” Rey shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Calrissian was a powerhouse of about sixty-five who looked fifty with his boots laced up tight. Han Solo met him when his teenaged lips were chapped from kissing an ice cold chick. There wasn’t a frigid burlesque queen in the burgh who wasn’t thawed out by him. 

“You’re a cute little package to be walking alone at night,” said Rey.

Ben smiled at Calrissian’s technique. The old grifter had his knowledge box hitting on all cylinders. Calrissian kissed her hand — Ben watching him criticizingly. Never taking his delighted gaze off Rey. “You’re kind of cute yourself walking alone _any_ night.” 

“That does it!” Ben stood up and stretched, breaking into a fast boxing shuffle, his heavy shoulders and arms moving like well-oiled pistons. Calrissian’s soft belly spilled over the tight waist of the trousers, shaking as he danced around shadow-boxing with him. Sitting down it became a cascading mass of flabby rolls. Calrissian was a little fat now, but not soft! It was meeting them somewhere like old times. It was still that something about it that got Ben. A kind of magic or whatever it was. Well, they held each other and Ben could laugh. Because they were together again. They played it smart and forgotten nothing. Forgotten nothing except two things: Han and Leia weren’t there. 

Their cottage turned out to be pretty cozy. It even had a fireplace and Skywalker had started a nice blaze with some driftwood he found piled up in the back. It was August but the drizzle was cold and that wind kept blowing in from the ocean. Skywalker had rustled up some supper and they sat there at the kitchen table enjoying themselves and cutting up old touches. They had baked rabbit in rich wine sauce and there was Skywalker’s homemade hooch. Skywalker had also set candles on the red-checked tablecloth. Whenever Leia had baked rabbit on the stove, Han’s favorite, that meant everything was okay. Baked rabbit, that’s code. Meant she could get whatever she wanted out of him. It was like looking for oil and hitting a gusher. 

Ben watched Calrissian, amused at what he considered “sucker” technique.

“Where did you ever get a name like Rey?” Calrissian kissed her hand.

“Mah old lady though it up. Pip, ain’t it? Yessir… it kinda gives me class.”

Calrissian laughed, a little too loudly. He again looked over Rey delightedly. “That explains it then.”

“What?”

Calrissian took her hand — warmly gallant — giving her the works. “You’re a Countess. Countess of Corellia.”

Rey smiled, beginning to taking heart a little; Ben groaned. “Uncle Lando, must you hustle my wife in front of me?”

“And spoil a lovely family tradition? It’s what makes me tick, slugger. You remember the story of ‘The Scorpion and the Frog’?”

“Actually, I didn’t know Ben had a family.”

“Sure, muffin. Everyone has a family someplace.”

“Not me. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of them in twenty years. I hate to tell you where some of them are.”

Calrissian raised her hand with gallantry and charm, kissed it, Ben watching, amused at his technique. “Whaddaya mean, ‘ain’t got no family’? Sure, you got lots of family, muffin! You’re in the groove now with Uncle Lando.”

Rey looked at Calrissian, tears in her eyes.

Ben cracked, “Yeah, the loon lounge. They even give you a nice camisole at the door.—”

“Shaddup! Ya cramp my style!” And Calrissian rewarded him with a baleful glance. “Now, what did slugger tell his young beautiful bride about ole Uncle Lando?”

“He said you talk faster than a horse can trot, and you’re a piece of cheese and all you do is brag…”

Calrissian looked at Ben as he put on an insolent, sardonic smirk on his face, picked a cigarette out of his breast pocket, stuck it in his mouth, lit the match with his thumbnail and got the cigarette going with as much nonchalance as he could muster.

“What a surprise!” Skywalker choked back his laughter.

“Got it all figured out, ain’t you?” Calrissian said flatly. “Oh, I can handle Ben alright. He thinks he’s tough. Listen, muffin. I may be old, and look soft around the middle, and I may be a blowed-out fuse to _some_ people, but I was once a…”

“Don’t worry, he also said you were plenty tough. ‘Get out of line and you’ll see.’”

Calrissian swelled up and grinned. “You know, slugger, there’s sumpin’ that I’ve been meaning to ask you about.”

“What’s that, Uncle Lando?”

“No offense, but how’d you get that affair on your puss?”

Ben wore a smug look. “Years ago when I was at the Gilded Descent Casino in the Red Light Sector. I lamped this blowsy maiden all sawdust inside over by the crap tables. This guy was muscling her. So I walked up to them, polite like, and I said to him, ‘You call yourself a man? You know you’re a phony, lowdown, miserable prick? Be a man, don’t be a goddamn twenty-fie cent pimp.’ Out of nowhere this guy jumped up over the brass rail and tried to deal me a Corellian sunset. He cut the hell out of me.”

“He must’ve been pretty big and vicious to have done that!”

“Right on both counts.”

“Boyfriend?”

“No, brother. The doctors did what they could. But you know what? I think it gives me character. Makes me look less like a creampuff.”

“Yeah, sure, Galahad. It’s a lulu,” Calrissian said warmly — admiringly. “So what’d you do, did you go back and pop the guy?”

“No, I hired him. You can always use a good knife guy, right?” They all looked sharply at him. “What? Rey has a secret yen for the quiet type that takes lots of vitamins—”

“Ben!” Rey shook her head, scandalized.

They had a couple of drinks and Ben began to feel good inside, quite relaxed, and slightly philosophical. Rey cuddled up alongside him on the couch. They talked about a lot of things. Family, Argentina, their home, children. Then Rey had given him that look that he thought meant she wanted to be loved. He put down his drink and crushed his cigarette. He put his arms around her and drew her close. As he kissed her, he unbuttoned her blouse. 

She pushed him away and started buttoning her blouse. Then she smoothed down her caramel-colored hair. She looked at him through her long eyelashes.

“Your uncles….”

“...sleep like a couple of bottle tipping grizzly bears,” he assured her. “Just look at the darlings. This ain’t exactly in my line playing nursemaid.” He helped her on with her sable and tucked the two tight old bandits in bed, which felt routine, and they strolled out of the cabin to an exact duplicate next door. The old-timers probably figured a “big shot” like Ben might be kind of exclusive and fixed him up. Got him and Rey a cabin all to themselves. In the distance the bay glimmered through the trunks of the trees. All that time Ben’s heart was beating faster at the thought of having her again. He began to breathe pretty hard in those woods. 

When they arrived at their cabin, there were no preliminaries. They didn’t even put out the lights. They were both undressed and in bed before he could take more than one drag of his cigarette. Her body had excited him even more than it had the night before. Her breath was flavored with Nascetta. She had pressed her breasts and long lovely thighs close to him. 

“Darling?”

He reached for her. She opened her scarlet mouth and a laugh emerged from it as his lips hungrily crushed hers.

“Remember that black négligée I had made especially for you?” She let her fingers trail along his thigh. “Come put it on me, darling.”

She lifted out of her blouse. Then with deliberate silky seductiveness she shed the blue skirt. She stretched herself on the couch, her head on his lap.

He gripped her, caressed her scented, satiny flesh. “I want you... now.”

“I want you too, Ben, darling.” She laughed.

Then she rose from the couch and took his hand and led them into their bedroom. He followed her like a schoolboy. She closed the door, then locked it and stood facing him. She kissed him and put her arms around him.

“Darling... wait till I put on the négligée...”

“To hell with it.”

He was drunk. Drunk with liquor and the glory of her body. If he had to sit in the electric chair for doing it, he was going to have her. And he did.

It was the beginning of a new life for both of them. He had the girl. And they were going to build a home.

“Ben?” She was cuddled up in his arms.

“What?”

“You’re a strange sort of guy.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re always fighting something. You’re always looking for something. You always mix up yourself... why?”

“That’s what I’m asking. Why? Anyway, I know what I want now and always,” he said. He gave her a squeeze. He felt different about her. It wasn’t the same unhealthy excitement that bank robbing generated in him. It wasn’t anything like that at all. Being with her was different. It gave him a solace, a peace, he had never known — even when alone. When he was with Rey, it seemed as if he found contentment inside and everything was quiet and peaceful as it always should be. It was that way whether they were driving along the parkway, or sitting around in the apartment, or sitting right here, now, in the middle of a storm. Sometimes they went for hours without talking. Yet during those periods they seemed to be saying things to each other as if they shared a secret understanding. Their minds vibrated on the same wavelength. 

Marriage had a funny way of tongue-tying a man. He wanted to tell her that he loved her all the time. But each time, it stuck in his throat. He wondered why he couldn’t get the words out and be done with it. Maybe he was self-conscious. Maybe he didn’t trust himself to maintain the romance and hesitated to commit himself. He didn’t know. He told himself it would be better to just tell her how hungry he was for her, how hooked he was on her sweet poon, sweet as chocolate, and so tight she could crack a walnut, how he wanted to be near her or just know that she was around. Yet... he couldn’t even get those words out. 

The fire started to burn down and the darkness closed in on them. Outside, nature was in a tempest. 

“Ben, shouldn’t we put more wood on the fire?”

“I’ve got news for you.”

“There isn’t any more?”

“Not unless we chop up a chair.”

She was silent for a minute. Then: “I guess we’d better go to bed...” 

That’s what he had been waiting for.

He woke up sometime during the night. She was trembling and holding him tight. You could hear the pounding ocean and howling wind. She was sobbing.

“The hurricane must be pretty close.”

“I think God is punishing us for our sins.”

“Hell, if he punished everyone who did that, it would storm everyday in the year.”

“Honey... you have to believe in something... you’re a ship without a rudder. You’re just drifting with every wind and tide. You can’t live by bread alone... Ben, you need God...”

“Goodnight.”

That was the end of that. He didn’t know if she went to sleep or not but he could hear the wind and the rain and the ocean fade out slowly, as he did.

He guessed God got over being mad at them because the weather was bright and sunny the rest of their vacation. The August sun came out and warmed everything up and they were almost the color of mahogany by the second week. They didn’t let them out in the sunlight where Ben had been staying… afraid it might ruin their girlish complexions. It was a happy time, alright. He was glad of the seclusion you could find on this creek. They used to hike along the beach for miles without seeing a soul. Then one day they went down to the village and hired a sailing dinghy and went scooting around the bay. Back home on the coast he had learned to handle the things a bit. It was a wonderful feeling, sailing a boat. You’re out there in the breeze making the craft do as you wish, reining and controlling the giant forces of the elements. It made you feel free and primitive. He jolted as Rey slid onto his lap and ran her tongue along his neck. “My great big outdoors man.” After that, they went sailing every day. He didn’t shave for a week. Rey acquired big freckles on her nose and he kidded her about them. 

When she used to take a shower at the cottage, he kidded her too about her breasts and buttocks being so white and the rest of her body so brown. Except for those private spots, she looked like a copper model just poured from molten metal. That first Saturday night they both got quietly drunk all by themselves and didn’t wake up until noon the next day. It was a crazy happy time. In those two weeks he found a whole lifetime of happiness. 

Of course, he knew it had to end. But his mind refused to face it. Batuu Creek, the cottage, his uncles, Chewie — he was on a different planet. 

The last evening on the Creek they walked along the beach to a deserted spot and built a fire in the dunes to take away the night chill. They sat in front of the fire on a blanket. She looked fetching and pretty with the reflection of the fire lighting up her tanned face and his heart filled with tenderness. 

“We ought to have brought marshmallows,” Skywalker turned to Calrissian. He had seized his pipe and began to stuff it.

“Well, you’re the one in charge of supplies.”

“I’ll remember next time... if there is a next time.” He got his pipe lighted.

They didn’t say anything for a while. Rey just stared out at the vast darkness that was the ocean. Waves lapped at the sand. The moon was a yellow pumpkin.

“It’s lovely here, Ben. I love the sand and the dunes and the bay behind the forest and the sailing and the creek. Just think, there’s nothing between us and Europe but water.”

“The guy down at the village said we’d hit Portugal if we sailed straight across from here.”

After a while he offered her a cigarette and took one himself. He lit them both from a half-burned ember.

“Everything ends tomorrow.”

“I wouldn’t say that, Uncle Luke.”

“It will. Everything will end when we go back. It will be just as it was before.”

“Hell, we’ll be riding high when we get back,” said Calrissian.

“I hate it all. I hate the whole filthy business.”

“Bank robbing? It’s been pretty good to you.”

“I always wanted to be a famous jazz musician, Ben-jamin. I was crazy about the trumpet but a guy with one hand looks awful playing a horn. That’s life. Whichever way you turn, Fate sticks out a foot to trip you. So I learned to rob banks instead. When I tried to join Vader’s gang, I found it had lots of cannons for practically every racket. They tried to handle me like a ten-cent heist guy. The only opening left was old Ben Kenobi’s gang, so I studied under him.”

“I feel like I’m in fast company,” said Rey. “I sure heard a lot about Ben Kenobi. One time, when I was only a kid, I seen his picture in the paper, and they tagged him as ‘The Grandaddy of Bank Robbers.’”

“He was a swell dresser, too, wore a gardenia every day, an ebony cane and gray gloves. He always carried a big roll but never a rod. I facsimiled his style and then formed my own gang. We hit Hoth. Then Dagobah, where old man Yoda was hiding out and gave me an audition one night. That’s how I got started. Of course, my little act became popular so I had to give things a chance to cool off. And ended up... with Han and Leia.”

“How domestic can you get? Always the devoted husband. Solid, decent, happy lives.” Ben retreated back into his cynicism.

“They certainly had a short and snappy courtship. If you’ve ever gone to a supermarket with a woman and pushed one of those little carts through the aisles while she picks out groceries and loads it, then you know you’re married,” Calrissian chuckled. “The only thing missing was a couple of kids tagging along. Han and Leia definitely felt like a young married couple doing the shopping for the week. He felt silly as hell pushing the cart but he looked around and other men were doing it and nobody seemed to think it was funny. From the amount of stuff Leia bought, you’d think she was going to stay on with us for a couple years instead of just sorta looking after things for us and playing hostage till the ransom came in from the Organas.”

“I’ll lay eight to five it didn’t take my old man long to see that some of them guys were missing some male hormones. They got rings through their noses and every time those fraus twist it, they jump. They’re nowhere. The more they drink, the more frantic they get. Quite a show.”

“Maybe. But Han was old-fashioned, I guess,” said Skywalker. “He’d rather be in someplace where the air was clean and wholesome, not full of smoke. He wanted a home and kids... not the life of a poor orphan boy. He wanted the things that meant something.”

“That was thoughtless of me. I guess I never made a supreme Class A sacrifice like that. Everything I ever wanted I just reached out and took.” And he gave Rey a meaningful look.

“Ooo, I like a man who knows what he wants!”

“My sister was strictly okay. She was the best man of the lot. It’s — well, it’s just too tough a life. No woman can take it. But Leia did a better job of it than any woman you ever met before—”

“That’s no lie,” Calrissian nodded.

“—She made the life a little like livin’ in heaven. But how they felt about each other, well, there was nothing very unusual in that. Han was an ordinary healthy guy and Leia was an ordinary healthy girl. And when you add those two things together, you get an ordinary healthy romance, which is the old story. Sure, but somehow it was the most wonderful thing in the world. All in all, Han was a pretty lucky guy.”

“Just simple arithmetic,” Ben said. “Where’d he learn that, throwing dice?”

“It was for Han. How about you, boy?”

“Is it normal to be so hungry and happy at the same time?”

“Tell me. Just how hungry are you?” Rey put her arm through Ben’s, sitting up close. 

Ben looked at her. “Tell me first. Just how happy are you?”

“As happy as a monkey juggling three coconuts!”

Ben laughed.

Skywalker and Calrissian watched and exchanged glances.

“Now you’re gettin’ it, kids,” Calrissian smiled. “When you love somebody, that’s it.”

There was a long silence. Ben and Rey were now definitely staring at each other, and due to this fact a certain awkwardness developed at that point. Rey got up and turned.

“Well, I guess I’ll go play with Chewie.”

Ben could see the lights of a ship on the horizon. He wondered where the people were going and whether people on the decks were looking back at the lights on the shore. He remembered somewhere it said it was called Batuu, meaning “Bright Suns,” because the Indians used to build big bonfires at night for their clambakes. He got up and found some more wood and threw it on the fire. He wished Luke would snap out of his mood. He felt blue enough, without assistance from him.

“Ben, what future is there in bank robbing? What kind of life do you lead? You know as well as I that only a few hit the top and make a good living. The rest flounder around until they’re washed up, often ending their days in charity wards as dope addicts or as alcoholics.”

“You’ve been reading too many books.”

“No, I’ve been playing the game too long. I’ve seen them. Has-beens and the ones who never were anybody... doing jobs once in a while and hangin’ around the highways and five-and-tens begging for anything. Ten buzzers waiting for every job that opens up, working for peanuts and drinking it up or hittin’ the hop before the job is finished while their wives work in factories and department stores to support them...” Skywalker stood at the fire. “Isn’t it the truth, Lan?”

“And making it worse is all the real A1 guys are gone… dead or in the Prism — taking the jobs with them. Even the coppers you once shaked have kick-offed, retired, or forgotten you. Retirement is rough-going,” Calrissian lamented. “I ran down like a clock. And just as though I’ve been wound up too tight, a spring broke.”

“Yeah, that happens to a lot of people,” said Skywalker.

“I kept trying to do a lot of things no guy could do. I started drinking too much…”

“Yeah, I know what you mean, Lan. Everything looked nice and sharp when you’ve had a couple. But when the edge wears off the whole works is a dull finish. It’s no good.”

“Yeah, that’s the way it was with me.”

“Then I really went haywire. I started a garden. I lead the Horticulturist Society! And won first prize in the T’alla Festival. It’s the land of milk and honey for the flower racket. Roses, gladiolus, chrysanthemums. If I had come out here in the first place, I’d be a pillar of respectability now. I wish I was thirty years younger. In ten years I’ll be a rich man… I’ll also be sixty-three. Life’s a funny thing, isn’t it? When you get what you want, you either don’t want it any longer or it doesn’t do you any good.”

“It’s a relief to talk to you, slugger. I’m glad you’re doing alright. Han was about the last regular. I wish I had four guys like him back then. A knock-over was just a waltz.”

“Those were the times! Aren’t many of the old bunch left…” 

Calrissian was absorbed in his thoughts, too. “Yeah, times sure have changed,” he lit up a cigar, took one puff, put the cigar down. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t know what it’s all about anymore.”

“Cut it out you two, will ya? There are jobs around. When they need help, they need it bad, and are willing to pay twice as much for a first-rate engineer.”

“You know how many jobs like that open up, Benny. Only a handful... and thousands of pigeonholed mob-buzzers are eating their hearts out trying to get them. They do better at havin’ themselves pinched an’ kiss-kissy-kiss with the tin badges as stoolies for the reward, if there is one,” Skywalker spat. “And you — even if you got such work, you wouldn’t be satisfied playing that small-time heister stuff.”

“For jack, I’d binge anything,” Ben growled, not exactly believing it.

“You’d binge — until you got fed up. Then you’d cut out even if you were getting the big end of things. That’s where your scheme falls through.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“So why not cut out now... leave it? Go legit! A couple of boys in my town ran with big organizations and then quit because it left them no home life. Now they binge pot-bellied Core Streeters legitimately and make a few extra dollars... and get a few kicks too. They wouldn’t go back to being full-time buzzers for anything in the world. They’ve found happiness, Ben. Each has his wife, his kids, his home...”

“And a heavy mortgage, I’ll lay eight to five. What do those bread stashers work at during the day?”

“Well, one boy is doing alright as an insurance pitchman...”

“Christ, I couldn’t sell the Coruscant Bay Bridge for a hundred bucks!”

“...and the other drives an oil truck. He makes two bills a week plus a bonus.”

“I couldn’t drive a truck for three thousand a week.”

“Nobody gets ahead fast when they play the game on the level.”

“And that’s the way you want me to play it?”

“That’s the _only_ way to play it. I’ve been in rackets all my life, Ben. They don’t pay off. Except in dough. I’m a businessman. There are other things an ex-con can do.”

“Like what?”

“Open up a store and sell produce and tobacco and even malt... that would be tops! Maybe it don’t pay off big, but it pays off steady. Just imagine having your own store in a small town and telling all the wide-eyed kids how you rode with all the big-time operators and how you were the first to go straight.”

“What have you been drinkin’, varnish?”

“That’s a piece of gratuitous rudeness. Oh, Ben, get out of this business before it’s too late! You’re thirty now. Soon you won’t be able to take this kind of life anymore. You’ve done too much already. Your luck won’t hold.”

“You’re out of your head. I can name a dozen bank robbers over forty who are top men...”

“I know you can, but this regime today don’t know about the old ways — that real American outlaw — that there was a sense of not ‘I want to be somebody,’ but ‘I already am somebody.’ You understand? Just being an individual was important. There was a line. There was — business was here. It was not that we hurt the little people. Han wouldn’t hurt a woman or child. He was a right guy — just like everyone thought. Nowadays, kids are dying in the streets of drugs, shooting each other. Tut-tut quick-like that. They don’t even know what they belong to anymore. Nobody retires with the big house on the hill — nobody. Anakin Skywalker, for instance, okay? He’s the reputed boss of bosses, had a beautiful mansion. Anakin never retired on the hill with a house. Look what happened to him. Him and Han lay dead in the street. I mean, what is that? For a mother, for a wife, for a daughter, for a son — What is that? Your family got to look and see it in the papers. It ain’t worth it, son. It ain’t worth it. We once prided ourselves on being a mighty family that served and defended our countrymen. Today the allegiance and devotion we commanded are gone. The G-men’s crackdowns are rubbing us out, and the survivors are slaughtering each other for control of what’s left. It’s Waterloo. Honor, respect, and trust are dead. It is the twilight of the bandit. These kids coming up are screwballs... young twerps, soda jerkers, and jitterbugs, and they’re taking up at the point where you older men left off. They’re coming out to lock horns with the old-timers and they can run rings around them because they know as much about robbing as a bank clerk.”

“I’ll take one on anytime if he thinks he can cut me.”

“Ben, maybe so. I know that you have the combined genius of mind and muscle. But being a bank robber is like gambling. You’ve got to win early in the game. And you’ve got to quit while you’re ahead. When you have your health and youth, I mean.”

“You talk as if I’m washed up, finished, off the map. I turned out more jobs than any man alive. And they expect me to sit around on my hunkers and be Lord Chesterfield. After all, things are just beginning to break. Rey...”

She threw a stick. Chewie was after it like a shot, picked it up, trotted back to Rey. Rey patted him, threw the stick again.

“You have no more influence around here than the next man. That kid’s alright — got more nerve than most guys. One never knows where one is going to find talent.”

Ben smiled, kidding Luke. “No. One never does, does one?”

Luke thought Ben’s remark was on the level. “To quote Plautus: — _‘Saepe summa ingenia in occulto latent,’”_ he said, enthusiastically.

“You took the words right out of my mouth!” Ben chuckled. “She comes with a temper, too.”

“Well, well. You really do take after Han. He wouldn’t have given a red cent to have your mother without a temper.”

“You ever let ‘em get an angle on you and you’re a goner.”

“You’re stuck on her. She’s stuck on you. She must be. Tell her you love her. It’ll be a mess but who cares. You can work it out. You both can work it out. You have to. You have the rest of your lives to figure it out.”

Rey grinned at Ben, hesitated, then went up to him. Ben bent over and began to play with Chewie.

“Alright, Uncle Luke,” he finally broke down and gave in. “You’re old enough to breathe natural gas.”

“Shades preserve us, the boy is growing a brain.”

After another delightful flight over the Andes and Braniff International Airways “El Conquistador,” they arrived in Argentina. They settled, opened a couple stores and sought to shape a successful destiny. But for guys like Solo, Rey knew, what happened when the money ran out, or when their impulses or excitement rose to the surface, or when they became weary of their moll’s affection. It was only a matter of time before they got bored stiff and began taking up where they had left off: holding up banks.


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.

Sometimes now he’d stand in front of the mirror combing his curly brown-black hair and looking deep into his own eyes, admiring them and thinking how innocent they were and how Ma said he was going to be good-looking. And he vaguely knew girls and women on the street glanced at him curious-like. And men too, in a sort of admiration. But it was still hard for him to make friends. Maybe, he thought, I am good-looking.

He saw his broad, lanky face, his wide cheekbones with their touches of pepper, his cheeks not heavy yet with any beard but smooth and soft. He looked at his gently waxed skin, his clear clean eyes, his dark hair curling across his forehead, falling over it. Ben didn’t like what he saw in the mirror. But he wondered if being handsome would help him like Ma said.

He’d practice his innocent stare on people. On women, men at the poolroom when he was trying to mooch a dime, girls older than he was, Ma when she got after him about something. It always worked like magic. People would just melt in front of him. It became a regular trick. He could always work people by just staring at them kind of sad-like and innocent-like.

And now he stood in front of the mirror as much as Armie Hux, who was proudest of his flaming topper. Just like all red-haired Huxes were. Brendol Hux, for instance, was an expert on commerce and con jobs. A brash, bright and loaded wheeler and dealer who, when the good Lord passed out a conscience, he must’ve gone out for a beer and missed out. Ben combed his hair. He straightened his tie. He practiced the innocent stare, practiced smoking a cigarette before the mirror. He combed his hair some more. Ben looked at himself.

The guy in the mirror was good-looking. Maybe.

Hux shouldered him over and, glancing in the mirror, started twisting his Homburg on and arranging his hair around it. “Come on, horse face!” he said viciously. “You’ll wear it out. Give somebody else a break.”

Ben snapped his shoulders sideways, hard, striking them into him, and walked away. “Oh, go to hell, will you!” he yelled.

When he met Hux over on Coronet Street, Hux said, “Do you want to go somewhere special with me?” 

“Yeah!” Ben said right away.

Hux got up off the newsstand and started walking down Coronet Street. “Where we going?” Ben asked. But Hux was secretive and only said, “Oh — just for a walk.” And he grinned.

They turned off Coronet onto Blue Sky Boulevard and walked north. 

It was turning dusk now. Lights began popping on. Ben and Hux walked on into the darkness. “Where are we going?” Ben asked. “Jackrolling,” Hux said. 

They went a few steps more, passing a Greek coffee shop with no coffee on the tables but with men sitting at all the tables playing cards. “I’m five bucks short of the kitty,” one of the players kidded and put his rod on the table.

“I never went before,” Ben said hesitantly.

“Aw, there’s nothing to it,” Hux said.

Along the street Hux showed him how, going behind him and illustrating the grip; you slipped your arm around a guy’s neck and fastened it in with all your might while you pushed your knees against the back of his legs.

They went on, along Blue Sky, on through the scrap-heap neighborhood. There were hotels and hash-houses. Taverns now, too. The three gold balls of a hockshop hung over the sidewalk. Ben and Hux went under the sweep of elevated tracks. There were more taverns now. Hux showed Ben the jackroller’s hold again. They had to wait for the light at Narro Sienar Boulevard because traffic came fast and endless. A man on crutches leaned against the plate glass of a dark storefront and had dog’s eyes and an outstretched hand. A rubberneck bus hushed along easing breaks. A drunk, crossing in front of Mynock's Haven, found the sidewalks uneven.

...And the spieler’s voice came loudly from the window of the rubberneck bus: “Thirty to seven thousand hoboes come to Corellia a year. This is the home of the hoodlum, the land of the panhandler, the avenue of the...” The voice was lost under the clang of the trolley car; then came up again, “...razor blades for sale... five cent beer and whiskey... the floater population finds its way down here...”

“Here they come!” a skinny tramp yelled into the tavern. The men on the sidewalk all turned toward the bus. The drunks on the stools, the half-drunks at the tables all turned toward the street.

The bus was crawling now. It was right in front of Mynock's Haven, at the curb. All the men, in chorus, pruned their lips and gave the rubberneck bus the razzberry — loudly, raucously.

Hux and Ben, laughing, moved on down the street. Then, on the high-street marker on the corner over the green-painted city trash box and a newsstand — Embassy Hill.

PASTIME POOLROOM the sign said in a red and yellow arch over the plate glass. Cue sticks were crossed below the letters and in each triangle that the sticks made there was a billiard ball; then, lower on the window: RECREATION PARLOR — CHILI 10¢ — HOT DOGS. Over the steam table inside the window the whole plate glass was adorned with a frame of frosted electric bulbs.

Next door to the poolroom on one side was a tavern. Next door on the other side was a hotel. Its sign, sticking over the sidewalk, swung back and forth a little: H O T E L — ROOMS 25¢. A poolroom that, in this instance, served as a den of crime. The aftermath of a rather minor event to be noted on a police blotter, an insurance claim, perhaps a three-inch box on page twelve of the evening paper. Among the goods stolen: two vases of the Ming Dynasty, an antique silver service for twelve, a Louis XIV candelabra, a Queen Anne chest, three oil paintings by Picasso, two teakwood, hand-carved cigarette cases with platforms, rolling racks of fur coats, boxes of wine and cardigan sweaters and many other items. Small addenda to be added to the list of the loot. The proprietor to the flotsam and jetsam was a man late of Ireland named Quay Tolsite, a big-time operator in various black markets who was known to be dangerous. He had served seven years for breaking and entering, and that was only a year ago.

Three or four fellows stood in front of the poolroom plate glass, leaning against it as if it were their only support. They were fellows in their twenties. Homburgs were twisted down over their faces or sideways on their heads. Snipes were plastered in the corners of their mouths. Their faces were wise-looking, their eyes know-it-all. 

One day, Ben Solo was about eleven, when he wandered into there. It was cool and dark like... like being underwater. The first thing that hit Ben’s eyes was the crayoned sign tacked to the wall: NO MINORS ALLOWED. But Hux, passing by the owner poked him in the stomach playfully and with a nod of his head said, “Hi, Tolsite!” Tolsite said, “Hello, Armie. Where have you been keeping y’rself?” He said it friendly-like; and he looked at Ben, then looked away without paying any attention to him. Ben used to come back. He used to watch them play and kid and preen and strut around like back-alley peacocks with their coats off, vests unbuttoned, silk ties pulled loose, diamond rings on their pinkies. Along the benches, against two walls, sat idlers, tramps, dusters — nickel rats — without the price of the game. Ben moved right in. 

One day he was spotted by the Syndicate, Tolsite asked him, he was sitting right over there by the phone on the wall when he got something hot at the end of the wire, he walked over to Ben. His vest was still open and out over the top of the white apron with his tie down the middle, he said... he said, “How old are you?” “Sixteen,” Ben said quickly, making his voice huskier than it was and figuring, rapid-fire, what year he’d have to be born in. Tolsite looked at him quizzically, not believing. “Okay,” Tolsite finally said, “Want a little scratch? A little action?” 

And Ben got the worst going-over he ever had. The first time he ever did something, and Han lashed out at him, hauled him off his feet, and slammed him against the wall, grabbed Ben’s collar and twisted it tight. “Now listen, boy, I know you’re no mental giant, but try to juggle this... you gotta watch your steps with these two-bit street thugs. Stay away from them! You ain’t got the gift for it.” 

Han knew that greaseball Tolsite was a part of a mob that made the rest of them look like Little Bo Peep. And he was using the poolroom to do their fleecing and farming in. Them Pykes were strictly no good from way down deep. They were no bunch of petty racketeers trying to muscle in on some small territory — they wanted to move in wholesale, take over the whole country. Well, you know how it is when you get in with the mob.

Ben fell to his knees as Han relaxed his grip. Ben sank to the floor dazed. It hurt Han. To see Ben rotting his life away in that miserable, dark hall. And afraid. For reasons Ben wouldn’t understand.

Ben went back to the poolroom where Hux waited for him. They played plenty of pool then, and filling up on hot dogs and pop they went on the street. 

Ben walked around Coronet Street slowly and listlessly. There was nothing down here for him anymore. This was kid stuff around here. Up on Embassy Hill it was different. There was excitement and something always happening. He walked around, looking the neighborhood over scornfully. I’ll go to Embassy Hill.

It was early in the morning. There was a confusion of street cries like a choral chant. Leia came around the corner with a couple of kids carrying her groceries. 

“Did’ja boys see my son?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” they both said.

“How is he?”

“Fine,” said one boy. “Fine,” said the other.

“Any dark circles under his eyes?”

“We didn’t see any, Ma’am...”

“...He only told us to give you the petunias.”

They walked along, talking, a man edging over to Leia. Bala-Tik the Collector’s gang swaggered around in the alley behind the textile plant. Leia and Bala-Tik appeared to know one another.

“I’d like to have a conference with you, darlin’. You made a mistake. You made somebody mad. Nothing personal, okay? It’s just gotta be done. You made a mistake. Happens in the best of families.”

“I paid you everything I have. Fan me. The rest he gets next week.”

“Listen, what happens if I don’t do this? I gotta leave town?”

“I could do something, you know. You guys wanta do something to me, I know who to tell about it. You guys ought to think about that.”

“Hey, Guavian scum!” One of the boys now went to bat. “This glamor girl you’re pushing around happens to be Kylo Ren’s mother. It’s his beat.”

“You maybe already did something. Maybe that’s why you’re here, on account of you already done something.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

Bala-Tik, a busy man, checked his watch. “Then you’re alright, honey.”

“You got nothing to worry about.”

“Cut it out, darlin’, alright? You know what can happen to a guy that doesn’t wanta do what people tell him? You know. So don’t give us a lot of trouble. You’re liable to get everybody crossed up.”

The man was cautious. He kept looking back over his shoulder. A sound had crept in on the wind almost unnoticed. It was the soft, low, whistle that they would come to know as the identifying whistle, the clarion call, of the anklebiter brigade. 

The whistle was answered, and sent out again. 

Down a dark street and near an alley they ganged up on him and his men. They conked him over the head. They took all his money and his wristwatch. 

Kylo Ren, an assumed name, was well known on the Hill now. Everybody knew him by name. Everybody knew he was tough and clever and a jackroller. Some of them knew other things about him: how he got his extra money. Sometimes he would bring a fin home, or a sawbuck or a double and tell Ma he had a bangtail working for him or his parlays came in. “Big take?” Leia would look up and ask, quizzically, “Are you _sure_?”

“Sure,” Ren lied easily. “That handicap was made in heaven.”

Because Ma needed the money she took it. “Han’s conning on the square.”

“What does _he_ want?”

“He wants to know if you’re jammed up. Maybe split a bottle of beer.”

“Ah, he’s giving me that old business about being on my side.”

“I think he is.”

“Naw, I know Pop’s brand. It smells like a cheap trick. He plays up to you and tries to use things against you.” 

“That’s why it takes a hard guy somewhere in the setup to operate. Someone who the mobs can’t shove around. A lad has brains but not much stomach.”

“Well, after seeing a few guys take their beatings firsthand I got my stomach full. One hundred percent full. There’s not a fraction left for anything else.”

“You still working on that pitch?” 

“Lay off!” She held out a handkerchief and wet the corner. She rubbed his cheek, then examined the handkerchief. 

“What’s a little spit between mother and son?”

“Goodbye, Ma. Don’t upset the applecart.”

One night he got to Bovo’s on Treasure Ship Row, a bunch of the fellows were there. He threw up a hand in a hello gesture and walked down the railed aisle toward the food. When he came to the table he carried a pair of size 9 black and gray loafers made to order in the Old Country for Finn. 

“You must’ve scored heavy,” Finn said enviously.

Ren showed him some folded bills. Finn grinned again and tilted his chair back until it touched the wall. He put his foot up on Ren’s chair. “They _all_ go for Ren!” he said.

They ordered drink after drink. When it came Ren lifted and tilted the brown liquid in past the yellow foam. “Live fast, die young and have a good-looking corpse!” he said with a toss of his head. That was something he had picked up and he’d say it all the time now. Always with a cocky toss of his head. 

Ren and the boys walked along the Hill each a separate and individual, unalike yet alike, set of hardboiled mannerisms; each a small fleck of undeveloped malehood swaggering, big-footed, square-footed, down the street. Their chests were stuck out. Their Homburgs were on the sides of their heads. Cigarettes were stuck on the sides of their mouth. They came down the street feeling their masculineness and their toughness and their worldliness. If they found out about a hot tip they passed the word around and they never turned anything down. The kid stuff didn’t go anymore. You didn’t go around hitting each other on the arm and goosing each other. You were men now.

Swollen out in their importance they walked along the Hill looking for trouble, or for a floating crap game, or for someone to jackroll.

They turned into the Pastime. Finn looked up and said, “Do you want me to do anything for you, Ren?”

Kylo reached over and patted him on the shoulder. “No, kid,” he said, pleased and embarrassed.

Kylo liked him best of all. He thought he’d give his right arm for him. Kylo reached out again and rubbed Finn’s wooly head.

“Don’t do that, man!” Finn protested, trying to make his hair lie down. It crinkled under his hand and stood straight up. Finny was always a little muscle-bound, see, and Kylo could beat him to the punch. Boy, they had some Brannigans!

Kylo walked over to where they were shooting a game of banks.

“I’m flat,” Finn told Kylo, looking at him guilelessly. “Could you loan me a dime to shoot pool?” 

Kylo gave it to him. Then Kylo said, just to him, “When are you going to come over and see me?”

“Oh — some time,” Finn said, indefinitely.

Tolsite had been sitting waiting for Ren’s gang, which included: Fats Ren, Goo Goo Ren, Stubs Ren, Knife Ren, Legs Ren and Rubber Ren. It was kind of a hot day out. Fats, a ravaged, hungry-looking hood with shifty eyes and a slack mouth, was tilted in a chair, his feet up on the table and his derby was tipped over his eyes. Kylo strode over, grabbed the big man by the back of the collar and yanked back so that the man’s feet fell on the floor as did his hat, roughly, “Get y’r ass off the table, Fats. Nothing belongs on the poker table but cards, chips and whiskey. And he gave him a shake in the chair like you shake a carpet. “Ante up! Openers? Openers?” Then Kylo swung himself around in a chair. “Kind of on your high horse, ain’t you?” Fats lurched up and tossed some watermelon rinds to the floor. Kylo was wondering what Tolsite had in mind tonight. Tolsite had them sitting at the white marbletop lunch counter near the front pane with ten stools, legs stretched out over the floor and their elbows on the table, making a rest for their chins, three, four hours now. They’d been roasting to death out here. Kylo liked to go out of his mind. He wasn’t trying to cop out. He’d just like to know what Tolsite had in mind. He never had a tendency toward nerves before. 

“How long are we gonna sit around waiting for that guy to tell us what to do?” asked a young hood with a stubby nose and crewcut. That was Stubs Ren.

“I got news for you guys,” said a goggle-eyed little rat named Goo Goo Ren. He was a middle-sized crook, a few misdemeanors and a manslaughter rap. “Nobody’s gonna tell me what to do, but if I was running this organization—”

“What would you do, giant?” asked Fats.

“I’d tell you what I’d do, tiny. I’d run a lottery. That’s what I’d do. Everybody likes a lottery. Everybody. And I’d split the take right down the middle. One-fifth of the payoff in charity and one-fifth for the boys.”

One of them had filed his teeth down to points and stuck diamonds in between them. “What about the other three-fifths?” 

“Well, a guy’s gotta get something for his big ideas.”

“You’re a dreamer, Goo Goo.” Rubber had once shot at his sister’s boyfriend for slapping her around at the social club on Juni Street before fleeing across the river, where he was tracked down, but police couldn’t make the murder rap stick.

“A man’s only as big as his dream.”

“They’re gonna pull you out of the river someday,” the razor-toothed Knife said.

“That ain’t part of the dream.”

“What’s the scoop? The play? What are we doing, Tolsite?” Legs was no stranger to violence — he’d been shot four times — but he hadn’t crowded his luck. Known in the papers as the gangster who always got away, hence his sobriquet, most of the fellows didn’t mind his jumpiness.

“Now, there’s an old man, runs a little bar on Coronet Street between Altawar and Duro. He’s a feisty old bum always giving us trouble. He don’t want to pay off for the jukeboxes, he don’t want to pay for protection. We lecture him all the time, but he spits in our eye. So tomorrow morning, they find the old gleep sprawled across him bar. And then all the rest of them swing into line.”

“But I’ve never done anything like that before. I’m breaking and entering. I’m nickels and dimes. You put me in an alley, I do a mug job, but I gotta do it from behind. I got no guts,” Goo Goo laughed nervously. “You know that, Tolsite, I got no guts.”

Tolsite screamed, browbeating him, “You gotta get guts, Goo Goo!” Goo Goo backed away as he raged at him. “I don’t care where from. You get them under the bed, you buy them from a vendor, you grow them in a pot. I don’t care but you get them, and you do the job.”

“What’s the big idea sending us out? Why don’t you get a couple of torpedoes?” Kylo’s voice rose in revolt. A strange mortal combat between a boy and himself. Whose life had been given over to fighting adversaries, had found his most formidable opponent in a cheap poolroom. 

Oh, but he could be brutal and dangerous. He collected the chicken-feed, see? Money — seemed that was his whole life. Everybody was worried about money. So you go after the money. If the money said, “Beat somebody with a ball-peen hammer” or “drag somebody down the street chained to a car,” that’s what you did. You do whatever the dollar brings. You were paid. You did it. That determined whether you’d be a wannabe or a be. You were either in or out. Now he was asked to cool a civilian. This would put him in the big-time. They trusted him. But there was a hitch. Ben Solo was no house painter. 

That’s the thing about crazy men, specifically the Solos — their fine sense of distinction. And it always seemed to kick in at the right place, at the right time. “Even in our crummy kind of business, boy, you’ve got to draw the line somewhere.” He didn’t want some square john’s blood on his hands. All he wanted to be was somebody — but not like this. What’s it all for? It wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to be somebody. Ben Solo had seen the dark side of the business. 

“Cos every torpedo we have in the line is going to be picked up the minute they find that old gleep.” Tolsite’s eyes glittered cruelly. “Because you’re not gonna get picked up because you’re nickel and dime and everybody knows it. You never had a line like this because you never could do a job like this, and that’s why you’re going to do this one. And that’s how you’re going to get away with it.” After a stupefied moment, Tolsite laughed. “Now, he closes that bar at two o’clock. You boys be there when he’s about to lock up, and you do it. Be ready to go to work on him.”

“Uh-uh, Tolsite. Count me out.”

Behind the bar, Tolsite darkly watched Ren. “Look, don’t go Joe College on me. What’s the matter? Rough stuff not in your line or something? Scare you, genius?”

“Naw, it doesn’t scare me. I don’t believe in it. If you’re smart, you don’t have to use it.”

“So I’m not smart. You’re a bright boy, genius. And I’m glad to have you working for me. But do you know why you’ll always be working for me and not vice versa?”

“Why, Tolsite?”

“An operator, he runs things. Up, down, sideways, rain or shine, he runs ‘em. You got no jet engine in your belly that makes you operate. You’d rather read a couple of good books, wouldn’t you, genius? That’s the wrong attitude. Some little punk gives me attitude, I got an easier way of taking care of him. So you’d better play along. Genius, you’re just a chiseler out for a soft buck. You’re not crooked and you’re not straight. You’ll take what you can get, where you can get it, but you don’t want any trouble. Maybe your old man was some kind of a legend. A tin god. But you’ll never be an operator.”

“Now, get this straight. I don’t want any part of it.”

“And I don’t grant exit visas.”

“Aaah, don’t try that line on me, Jack. This is Corellia, not Berlin! You shuffled the cards, but now it’s my deal. There’s only one way to handle you.”

“Pop me off, little guttersnipe lord—?”

“Why don’t you shut up when I’m talking? I won’t have to pop you. After the stretch you’ve done, if they nab you with a water pistol, you’ll catch an awful spanking.”

“Read that in one of your comic books?”

“No, I read the papers. I also have other sources. I also don’t like questions. Especially from a goon like you. When I was boarding rail cars, ditch-digging, things like that, an old bindlestiff told me, in this racket you meet a lot of characters. Some are good, some are bad. Some are right guys, some are wrong. Okay, you mind what they want you to learn. Sometimes you learn what they don’t want you to learn. Character pulls a job. A lot of the guys may know about it, but the cops may never know about it. It goes around the grapevine, see. But it never gets upstairs. You know what I mean?”

Tolsite was faintly amused. “Yes, I think I do, Your Lordship.”

Kylo straightened his Homburg. “If I need any scratch or action, I’ll give you a ring.” He had talked his way out. Like Han once said, “A man has to live with himself. Even if it is in the gutter.”

“I don’t get what happened,” Fats followed out.

“It won’t be the first punch you didn’t see coming,” Goo Goo said.

Then he was fourteen. 

He stood in front of the mirror, combing his hair. He stood, ambivalent with himself, looking in the mirror at himself. His hands halted; the comb rested half-drawn through the curling dark hair. Fourteen! He looked like he was sixteen or seventeen. He was grown up. He was a wiseguy now. He had all the answers. He knew all the goddamn answers. Yeah, he knew about cheesecake — well, what he’d heard from the other fellows — and pimps and phonies and crooked cops and gambling joints and playing the horses. None of the girls around here were his type. Not that any were clocking around. No class, taste or discrimination. They could get it in magazines, but it’d never be a part of their natural equipment. Anyway, he couldn’t waste his time thinking about girls. There were more important things to think about. He turned his face, slowly, first to one side then the other, looking at it out the corner of his obsidian eyes, studying his profile. A controlled intellectual face — the face of a perceptive, clever young man. Let anybody try to kid him or make a sucker out of him. He’d show the bastards! He looked up into his eyes. He widened them, made them boyish and innocent. He grinned and winked at himself. Whistling, he got his hat, put it on, tilted it over his forehead a little and posed in front of the mirror. He pushed it to the back of his head and posed again. He squared his back shoulders. What a sap Han was! Making one-fifty a week working nine hours a day and glad to get it. The crowning touch to an illustrious career. Look at his old man. Career shot. Too damn honest. “Han the Just,” that’s what they called him, a crook of upright character. A heel with a Robin Hood complex. His boss was that thing right up there. When a guy’s honest, it was just like being a southpaw: He couldn’t help it. Worse off than he had ever been before. Only suckers worked! Well, Kylo Ren would get his and the easy way! He took one parting look at himself and swaggered out of the room. 

Crime didn’t pay, eh? Maybe not after you were caught. But it sure did up until then.

There were human misfits in all kinds of business but Kylo Ren guessed the newsboys thought a callow bandit sticking up banks made the juiciest story. One hot summer afternoon, he walked into the lobby of a Bank of Aargau in the Bottoms district of Corellia and stood in line. When he got to the teller window, the boy wearing a pinstripe, double-breasted suit, a black velvet Homburg adjusted to a rakish angle, and patent-leather shoes, peered out from under the brim of his hat — pious to a fault — and politely informed the woman on the other side of the counter that he had a rod and would she please hand over the dough. After tucking one thousand, seven hundred and forty dollars into a briefcase, he apologized for any trouble, thanked her, and, hat brim pulled down, shoved along.

Thirty minutes later, Ren was sixteen blocks west at the Central Bank in the Teeno Village district going through the exact same routine and walking out with two thousand, three hundred and forty-nine dollars.

Still moving west, he hit a Plexgrove Combine in Drall forty-five minutes later, but cut out with no money when the teller flipped off her launching pad. Undaunted, he hoofed the concrete one block over and cordially robbed the First Imperial Bank there for two thousand, five hundred and five dollars.

Less than an hour later, he walked out of CorSec Bank in Coronet Heights, practically in the shadow of the Federal Building that housed the FBI’s Corellia Bank Robbery Squad, with four thousand, one hundred and ninety dollars.

Diving into a cab during rush hour traffic with the briefcase packed to the brim with banknotes, Ren headed over the hills to Selonia Town and pulled a final job just before closing time at the New Republic Bank in Talus for a take of two thousand, four hundred and thirteen dollars. Because who would suspect that the loot would be carried in a Corellia taxicab? Four hours, six heists, thirteen thousand, one hundred and ninety-seven dollars.

As impressive as Ren’s performance had been, a record for bank licks by one person in a single day, it did not entirely shock the G-men in the bank robbery squad. This was Corellia after all, and by 1943, Corellia had long established itself as the undisputed “Bank Robbery Capital of the World.”

Han Solo looked up from the kitchen table. Displeased. He was reading the sports page in the newspaper. To him, Ben wasn’t worth the powder it’d take to blow his nose. 

“Hi, Pop! Hi, Ma!” he shouted, waving, big-shot, with his arm and walking in. “I didn’t want to wake you, so I jimmied the door open. I crashed out. Me and another guy, in a laundry truck. That’s nice, huh?”

“Hello, son.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Have a seat. You must’ve remembered it’s pork chop night. Han, aren’t you going to say anything to the boy?”

“You’re smart as a note passer, but as a robber you’re strictly from hunger. This is what comes with getting mixed up with a bunch of small-time chiselers. Always hungry, always scared.”

“I knew you’d never tumble to it.”

“Come on, use your wits, boy. What good is that big brain to you if you can’t crack a Federal Grade A alarm protected Mosler installed in 1928 with an outer grill of two-centimeter steel bars, double combination locks, interconnected tumble pattern?”

“Blasting?”

“I’m a technician, not a coal miner!”

“Then you’ll break me in?”

“It’s interesting to see how much faith you have in yourself. You know something? For my money, you don’t want to be the best bad enough, boy,” Han scoffed. “Why, when I was your age, I would’ve jumped at the chance. But then, I was something better than second-rate.”

“Watch yourself, Pop. You might slip and say something nice for once. You know what you are to me? You’re a big balloon waiting for someone to stick a needle in it. Well, I’m the someone and here’s the needle,” Ben exclaimed. “This thing up here. Naw, you’re like all the other legends. You live on a reputation. You have more imagination than brains.”

“You know it takes more than skill to be a bank robber,” and there was that crazy gleam in Han’s eyes. “It takes equal parts of talent, luck, work and nerve. A quality you sadly lack.”

Ben quickly saw the gleam. “Nerve? You mean insanity. Risk my life on a score?”

“Insanity, if you prefer. I am just a bank robber. There’s probably no less important thing on the face of the earth. But mark this in your book. I’m the best. It’s a proud thing to be the best at anything. But then you wouldn’t know about that.”

“Well, how about it, Pop? You say I don’t want to be the best bad enough, but I say you’re wrong. Oh, boy, are you wrong.”

“That’s your pitch.”

“This racket is in my blood!”

“Still talk and nothing else.”

“I can deliver, too. I’m good, Pop! I’m… I’m… I’m good. But am I _that_ good?”

“Hey, you’ll really never know until you’re ready to risk everything. You know, where I come from, there’s a guy. Go to the Flight Academy and whisper his name. Say ‘Rio Durant’ and watch the heads nod up and down. Or go to a gin mill and hear them speak of Enfys Nest. Both men faced danger daily and both are legends. You never make the grade at anything by playing it safe.”

“Oh, boy, this is nutty…”

“Stubborn as a mule! That’s you all over, Leia! Suits me fine! I don’t wanna work anyway!”

“No!” gasped Ben. He was against the wall at one end, Leia at the other — both watching Han, just about to leave the kitchen. She looked at Ben, shook her head and gestured — now wait. Leia directed Han like Stokowski. As she went to Han, and stroked his arm. He turned, looked at her, and sighed. 

“Oh, Han. Give him a break. We all got to start somewhere. My boy can swing it.”

“Sometimes ideas don’t work out.”

“You said it! Look at this idea for making a big roll. It could blow up. Anyone would think you’re crazy for nixing it. But I guess you’re right.”

“Listen, I know you from every angle, Princess. Maybe you can fool everyone else, but not me. I haven’t been out of the game that long. Just what are you getting at?”

“Well, this proposition is a big one. To engineer this kind, a seasoned guy like you has got to keep his hand in. You’ve been away a long time, Han.”

“Don’t be silly. That’d be like turning over in bed for me.”

“I don’t know. A guy could lose his touch awful quick. In this racket, one bad slip and you’re cooked, you know.”

“I don’t make slips, Princess!”

She patted his shoulder. “That was before. Maybe you’ve been through so much, you kind of lost your knife.”

“Is that what you think? Business is pretty good. I was just about to close a deal…”

“Listen, Han. If you never want to pull another job, it’s okay by me. We’re doing alright... right now. Only it’s a shame to see a top guy like you throw away his talent. But don’t let me and the boy influence you.”

Ben kind of figured he’d handle this himself. All they were looking for was a sting. It was Ben’s information. He located it, but Leia steered it. It was always something. They needed to ease Han back in the harness. The sooner he did the sooner they’d be out of the red. And Leia had worked it pretty smooth. She got Han interested in the pitch before she told him who lined it up. If she had mentioned Ben’s name he would’ve said no. It was plain enough. As long as Han was satisfied, it was their pitch. All they had to do was make Han the planning commission and president.

“You accept the terms, boy? Call the turn and call it fast.” Ben nodded. “Alright, kid. Tonight, I’m going to let you be a man. I’m going to let you show some muscle for a change. No shakedowns, no deliveries to a fence. Nothing little. Not anymore. Tonight, you’re getting up in the world.”

Ben Solo would get you straight on one thing. Out of all the vices out there, bank robbing was the most habit-forming. Nobody robbed just once. There was more risk involved but the rewards were great enough to make you slobber like a cartoon wolf. Word was out. Follow a few simple rules and you could make a whole heap of fast greenbacks with little chance of getting caught in the act. 

The casing, fingering, planning, juices flowing — whatever you want to call it — used to put Solo in another world. Maybe he did it just to show his square shooter father he couldn’t tell him what to do, that he harboured a deep jealousy, always craving to be the center of attention, and would often get frustrated when he wasn’t, but Solo didn’t think so. He wasn’t in it for the cash and gems, but for the thrill of the thing. Whenever he was robbing, he knew gimmicks and maneuvers and made all kinds of intricate improvisations without getting fouled up. Of course, this was illusion. He’d get that floating, drifting, dreaming “What’s the rush, Mack, take it slow!” feeling. Everything would seem bathed in beautiful, hazy, soothing light. New exciting sensations and power would exalt him. He’d want to explode he was so happy. Everything, everybody, was terrific and tremendous. A penny-ante stretch was a revolving door. Worse, he was coming out a better holdup man than when he checked in. Loaded with live cannons, the pen was just a finishing school for bank robbers. Whatever tricks he didn’t know outside he learned while inside, emboldening him to continue his career upon release. 

But there would be a payoff. The letdown would come and his head would feel like everything was all bottled up and under pressure and trying to pop his skull. The juice had lost its magic. He’d feel low and depressed and nothing would seem worth a damn. He had heard about guys like that. Tough cases. Poor guys. Thought they were out of gas but they were just stalled. All they needed was a little push — Mentally. To stimulate their imagination. It was all up there. Looking back at it now, he could have kicked bank robbing just like that but he went ahead living and having a ball instead.

Rey knew something was wrong. When everything had worn off and he’d feel like hell, they would go home and he’d crawl into bed and hold his throbbing head. She used to put on that sexy perfume and sleazy négligée and stand around waiting for him to grab her and tear it off. But he was dead from the neck down and it wouldn’t have done any good if he had tried. She wouldn’t get sore. Not shout or anything like that... she wasn’t the type. She would just let out a few words about politics and let it go at that. The third rail of civilized discourse... politics. Talk about taking a sideswipe with a Mack truck. It would’ve been kinder to just kiss him with a wrench.

The big blowoff came one night over something innocuous.

Rey had plenty to think about as she lay awake next to Solo. He was sleeping now, a deep, tired sleep that looked almost like death. She knew how tired he was and she knew in her heart that he was afraid. Something was very wrong and the very fact that he had kept it away from her worried her more than anything he could possibly have told her. Fighting this all by himself. Never saying anything ‘cause he might worry somebody. Battling like that to stay legit. He may be hard to handle, a slippery article, but Rey would rather have him like that than the easy way. So help her, Rey had never been so proud or loved Solo so much. These had been days of fear. Days when there were so many fears she didn’t know which fear was stabbing at her. There was the pain and the baby. That had been bad enough. Now there was this existential crisis, and most frightful of all, Ben was going to wind up on a one-way street to germsville.

She moved slightly, careful not to disturb Solo, her large stomach making her moments clumsy and difficult, and for a moment she felt a movement way down in her stomach, almost like someone kicking lightly against her pelvic bone, except that it was from the inside. It frightened her. Full of mischief, this one. Yesterday he kicked B.B. right off her lap. “That’s right after me,” Ben said. “Did you know at six months old I could change my own diapers?” She couldn’t get used to the idea that there was another human being inside of her, a child that would emerge from her body, alive and kicking. A being that had been conceived and nourished within her. Whenever she touched her stomach and felt movement inside, she felt strange. Even the skin didn’t feel the same. It was flushed and sensitive to her touch. Her corpuscles were kicking around so much, steam should have been pouring out of her nostrils… All the front burners were on, man, and she was percolating. At these times she would pray. Pray for strength and guidance. But tonight she had too much to think about. Too many fears to even articulate prayer.

B.B. had jumped on the bed, went and curled himself up at their feet. Almost immediately, before Rey had ran out of chat with old Morpheus, Solo felt the liquid in the back of his throat before it spilled out of his nose.

The thick, heavy-set body in mauve striped silk pajamas rolled over in bed, away from the caramel brunette breathing deeply at his side, and grunted loudly, opening his huge dark eyes, now heavy and swollen with sleep. He reached over to a small table by the bed and picked up the tablecloth. He blew into it harshly, then choked briefly.

“What!” he barked, completely awake. “Sonovabitch, sonovabitch,” he said, and angrily slammed his hand on the table.

“Jesus H. Christ!” he screamed. “Damn it all to hell, what’s going on around here lately? Everything gets loused up good.” He was sitting up in bed now, his drawn face dark with anger. 

“What’s the matter?” Rey asked, staring up at him from the luxury of the bed, her caramel-brunette hair soft and tousled. “What’re you yelling for? You woke me up.”

Ben Solo turned and glared at her. “That’s too goddamn bad about you,” he yelled. “Too goddamn bad!”

“Now, Ben, don’t talk like that. You promised.”

“Shit!”

“Ben!” She sat up in the bed and shook her caramel head to indicate the degree of her disappointment. 

“Don’t give me no trouble,” he yelled, pushing her back down roughly. “Rack ‘em back.”

“Yeah, but I just thought—” she screamed.

“Don’t think,” he cried, raising his hands in a pleading motion. “You just keep lookin’ beautiful and stay crazy about me. Go back to sleep.”

“Ben,” she said.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, go back to sleep. Maybe this will fix you up.” He burrowed his fingers between her thighs, the thumb circling and pressing, massaging her tightness. 

“Am I tight?”

“Tight as a prima-donna’s corset,” he moaned.

“That’s very nice,” she hummed. But the fix slipped — “Are you sick?”

“You’re gonna drive me nuts,” he screamed, rubbing the exhaustion from his face. “Get off my back. I’ve got enough problems.”

Rey glanced at Solo. He was completely unaware of the cruelty in his words. Rey turned her face away from him. She was hurt and sad. “Now you cut up rough and think I’m a problem.”

He winced, knowing he screwed up, “I-I didn’t mean it like that—”

“I know you didn’t.”

“Then why are you bawling?”

“Because I _am_ a problem… I’m no good… nobody wanted me!” she whimpered, about ready to cry. “Why are you yelling at me? I didn’t do nothing.”

She started to cry again, and it just melted Solo. B.B.’s ears picked up. He trotted across the bed to investigate.

She lay on her side of the bed, her face buried in a pillow. Her shoulders were shaking. B.B. tried to push his nose under Rey’s hand and get at her face.

“Rey!” he came forward. “I wanted you, so I took you.”

He leaned over, tried to uncover her face, but she resisted. 

B.B. found an opening, licked her face frantically.

“Stop, B.B.” she said, between sobs.

Solo, sitting on the bed, turned his face away from hers. It was streaked with blood.

B.B. was still trying to lick her face. She took the dog in her arms. 

“I can’t say three words to my wife without offending her some way. I’m gettin’ more like my old man every year.”

Rey rolled over, teary eyed, as Solo sat without turning.

“They were always yelling and fighting. The air would get blue, each word from their lips cracking like a whip. And when they got tired, they’d pick on me. I know I’m not easy to get along with. My background is impossible, I’m settled in my ways, I wanna do what I want, when I want. If it’s just a question of the right man, why would any levelheaded woman be overboard for me? All anyone’s ever gotten from me is trouble. To me, that’s all you’ll ever get. Till the payoff comes and that won’t be pretty.”

Rey put B.B. aside. “You’re not hard to take. I think you’re a fine man.”

“Who, me?”

“Yes, you. I think you’re a fine honest man with decent impulses and everything else. I couldn’t have fallen for you the way I did… I don’t think I could love you so much… I know I couldn’t admire you so much.”

“What have you been drinkin’, catnip?”

She chuckled. “You’re just a tough guy, Ben… You’re not a wrong guy. If you were on the other side of the fence, you’d play just as hard the other way.”

“You mean a shamus?” he was horrified.

“I don’t mean anything in particular, I just mean that I’m sticking with you. We’re a team. You don’t bust up a good team. Don’t think you’re ever gonna check me so easy. I’ve never been so happy in my life. I’m a different girl. I feel clean.”

“I’m gonna take a nature break. Now will you go back to sleep and let me noodle this out.”

“You’ll do alright, Ben Solo,” her baby voice low and sweet, as she sat up in bed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “We started out where it takes most marriages years to get, out in the open. No jokers. You’ll see. You framed a square deal.” And she thought of the baby as she kissed Ben Solo in the neck, pressing her large firm breasts, covered only by the sheer nylon gown, into his broad back. With her eyes closed she could make-believe it was the baby she held in her arms. She lay her head on Solo’s shoulder and smiled, her face soft and dreamy as she savored the image.

“Okay, okay,” he said, pulling her arms off from his neck. “I’m going to have one on the city. So keep them things on ice.” He pinched one of her breasts. 

She screamed and lashed out at him with both hands, the small hard fists striking his neck. “You’re gonna make me leak,” she cried, and quickly slipped the bruised breast out of the gown and examined it, rubbing it gently with her fingertips. “That’s a filthy trick to play on a girl. Don’t you know that? Boy, you’re gonna fix me up, alright. Fix me up _real_ good!”

Solo watched her rub the breast, his dark eyes flashing parched. Rey gave him a quick side glance and went on with the massage. B.B. watched Solo with a cocked head, jumped down and followed him. He splashed some water on his face to stop looking like a poached egg, changed his pajamas, and brought a fifth of Scotch to bed with him. B.B. sat at Solo’s knee, licking his bare feet. Solo stroked B.B.’s head. He felt pinned in, pinned down. He added it up and subtracted and tried to remember back to certain times and places, and all he got was a headache. The talk with Rey that afternoon had brought back all the old memories and the bottle was the only thing that could push them back again where they belonged. He tilted the bottle back and the warm liquid rushed down his open throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with each gulp, some of it running down the corners of his open mouth. There were tears in his eyes when he brought the bottle down, and for a few seconds he had difficulty breathing. But soon it felt good. Warm and relaxing.

He thought of his mother and wondered if she had quit running for good. He had stopped writing to her, and had not even seen her once in almost fifteen years. That was a long way in space and time. 

She didn’t have much. Always running — always on the move. Some life. Look, shall we look at the record book? First she was a cog in the wheel of corrupt politics. Without makeup, she looked about fourteen years old. When she wore makeup at fourteen, it was so she could pass for seventeen. Then by the time she was seventeen and a fugitive, she already had Ben. Then there was the old man — laid up in the street. And after that, just taking care of Ben all the time, wanting him to be on top of the world. Times when he thought he was losing his grip there was Leia right behind him, pushing him right to the top again. And now what’s she got to show for it? 

She used to take a bottle to bed with her, too, he remembered. Maybe she had had something to forget. Maybe she was trying to forget his father. Well, whatever it was, she had consumed her share of liquor. He couldn’t remember a day since the age of fourteen when she had been completely sober. 

Then he reflected on his own life, and how everything with Rey had sparked. His life, with all the money and all the luxuries money could buy, was... _Voilà…_ high school French. After it had been nothing for as many years as he could remember. 

He had wanted to stop running himself for sometime, but there was something driving him — always driving him — in his head. Wouldn’t let him alone. But now — it was different — it was okay. Seemed it was just him and Leia. You know? All they really had was each other — and now she was gone. Thinking about it, it was like he was dead, too. And it was kind of a good feeling… Maybe he _was_ crazy. Just like his old man. 

But he had his fill of criminal life. He wanted to do something his children could be proud of and inspired by. He didn’t want them to live his life. He wanted to give them a chance to be great men and women. To have their children be able to become leaders of a country. To have that chance. It was the American dream. 

Maybe Leia would’ve been proud of him. Even if she never particularly cared for him. The founders of Mother’s Day would have reconsidered it quickly if they had ever met his Ma. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him. No. She loved Ben. She would never not love her son. And had been a doting, smothering hard case on the frowner. She just didn’t... It wasn’t in the cards. She said he was a very colicky baby. You know? Difficult. Not a good sleeper? Didn’t eat well? They got off to a bad start, and she never seemed to recoup. She held that against him. Apparently she was very disappointed.

All those years in grammar school had been torture. The kids had laughed at him, poked fun at the big handlebars he carried around. He had never played games, had always sat on the sidelines, watching, sick with envy. Hux had been his only friend, the only person who had taken the time to understand him. And yet Hux had never been sympathetic. He had always treated Solo as a freak and was shifty as smoke. 

Hux put himself behind the eight ball with Snoke and got taken off the payroll. Once they get a few dollars, they get greedy and want more. Caesar, you know, that Roman general? He got his for being greedy. He wasn’t satisfied, so the final windup was he took the count. 

Ben felt pretty shaky about the whole thing, but he didn’t let it ride him… Until tonight, the lateness of the hour never bothered him and he hadn’t thought about Hux in a long, long time. But that smell… that smell! Why was there always that rotten smell? Following him around, beating in his head, never letting up. It turned his stomach inside out. Then there was Han’s hosed down body cuddled up on a nice cold slab in the morgue. And Ben, like some slob from the market, dragging around those heavy slabs of beef till they dropped dead. 

He wanted to forget it. He wanted to cut away a piece of his memory or blot it out. He couldn’t. No matter how hard he tried. He could change the scenery. But sooner or later he’d get a whiff of perfume or somebody’d say a certain phrase or maybe hum something. Then he was licked again.

Han’s death had been in the papers that night and they gave it a big play. The police still couldn’t find any family to identify him, even by fingerprints, and Leia and Ben agreed to give him a decent burial. But the next day, as the story of his missing corpse broke in the paper, their phone was swamped by calls from people who wanted to kick in on the expenses. To top it all, they had gotten a call from some old woman who wouldn’t give her name but sounded like she had plenty of class. She said she had just bought a headstone and a cemetery plot for Han in Corellia. Another guy who just said he was a “friend” bought the most expensive coffin on the market and all kinds of other gifts came rolling in. 

On the day of the funeral, all the bandits in Corellia got up early. You should have seen the collection of people that attended. Not only thieves, but bums, roughnecks, gamblers, bartenders, doormen, bootleggers, cabbies and even his old washed-out blonde landlady, draped in veils. It was an institution among itself.

The pastor had said a few words and everybody prayed. Ben bowed his head, and wondered if Han had believed in God or not. He had never talked about it. They lowered his wooden kimono into the ground. People began to leave. The spring rain had started to fall in a fine spray. The gravediggers filled up the hole, stamped down the earth. They walked off with their tools. Then they left. Han was alone.

It was perfectly natural. It was a total recall. Some more of that Freudian gibberish Rey was getting from her books. That was all. There was nothing more to it. He walked around for an hour or so trying to cool off, but nothing worked — so he went back to bed.

Solo, putting out the light in a nearby stand-lamp, rose and went to the window, where he pulled back the curtains. The first rays of dawn in the sky streaked in the room.

Say, what time was it? There was a clock on the table and Solo looked at it in amusement and alarm. Ten minutes after seven! 

Solo crossed to the bed, where Rey lay sleeping. He leaned across the bed and bussed her cheek. She woke up, mildly irritated, and pulled the covers up over her head to shut out the light. 

Well, what would she make of it? 

She studied him for a minute. She thought he was perfectly normal. An average human being. Selfish and ruthless when he wanted something, generous and kindly when he had it. Although Hux died as a result of an accident Solo was oppressed by a vague feeling of guilt because he profited by it. He never told Rey he gave Hux a dose of lead. Rey didn’t think he was crazy. She thought he showed good sense. He might have had a hard time explaining it to her — in view of the circumstances. 

He looked at her rather uneasily. 

Maybe he wouldn’t show such good sense in spilling it to her. 

Then what did he come to her for? 

Frankly, he didn’t know. He had to talk to somebody. And in spite of that con she gave him in the fleabag that first time, he had a feeling she and him had a lot in common. Born in the same gutter and spoke the same language. That fresh off the farm gag and the way she handled herself — Rey knew her vegetables. So he figured if he was going to get help from anyone it would have to be her. And he was right. Whatever she did, it worked. He felt a whole lot better. 

Of all the fourteen-carat saps! Letting a little thing like loneliness for a woman and a dog make him blow his jets! Here he was a guy who pulled that kind of stuff on other people and he went for it himself. He didn’t know what got into him. Maybe he’d been working too hard, slaving away night after night at the club, getting rich drunks drunker. He decided he wasn’t going to let it influence him in the least. Nope. He was going right ahead the way he figured. The deadfall racket. He was made for it. He knew how to make a club spin. It was going to take a great deal of coordination, brains and guts. 

“Wiseguys figure all the angles and stay one step ahead of them till they get enough to pack it all in and live on easy street for the rest of their lives. That’s how you beat this racket. It only takes one mistake to turn a wiseguy into a mug.” His father talking again, but who cared, on this subject the old crook who drank all the profits was right. 

And Rey? The only thing that bothered her was the clip angle. 

How many times did he have to tell her? They weren’t criminals. This wasn’t some front. No hiding out behind a steel door and peep hole. This was big business. Cutthroat business. They dealt with bankers, lawyers and a credit report rating. And he was in a spot. 

It chopped down on their time a little. He hardly saw her in the daytime. They seemed to live by night. What was left of the day went away like a pack of cigarettes you smoked. 

He’d talk her out of it. How much? Anything she wanted. He bought her a lot of little pretties. Fur coat, glossy pink boat job... little things like that. Remember, Solo. It takes one to catch one.

He tilted the bottle up again and took a deep gulp. Oh, it felt good. It was a crash-out. How Solo knew that. Stir was hell. Sometimes it was worse than others. Get a mean guard down on you and unless you had plenty of what it took you might just as well get up on tier number two and jump off. Some of them did. Top row of the cellblock. It was a forty-foot drop and you lit on concrete. He seen one guy take the dive. He made quite a splash! He just couldn’t take it. Solo was doing the book himself — but he got a break. Knowing he was in there for life, he _should’ve_ gone crazy. Lots of ‘em did. 

Them headshrinkers, their voices cold, kind and sad — and as professional as the click of a typewriter — would tell him that he was in bad shape. That by getting at the roots of his anxiety he could avert a serious upset. Well — too late. These delusions of his in regard to Rey and the baby were a part of his mental condition. If he were going for that couch bit, they’d tell him he was being tortured by guilt reactions connected to the death of his father during his bank robbing days. And the cannon that fit this job was his mother. 

He was startled by this angle. All of these things he thought he had done — or that have been done to him lately — were merely the fancied guilt of his past life projected on the present. He must regard it all as a nightmare.

Solo glared at the bottle in his hand with helpless, impotent rage. He had to pull himself together. He supposed the nosebleed was another one of his homicidal hallucinations, wasn’t it? Or was the homicide a reality, too? 

Speaking of nightmares, that was another thing that clearly indicated the serious nature of his malady. Since feeling that little flutter across her stomach Solo made a strange transference onto Rey — he saw her as a madonna who had saved him. That explained the fantods, Han used to call them, here today by way of the kinks, getting fat and puking. They would tell him he’d need hospital care. These hallucinations of his — well, they couldn’t have him wandering about and getting into trouble. Solo was almost beside himself. They couldn’t bluff him with that doctor-and-patient bundle of first-class baloney straight off the ice. 

Then he broke off as it came back to him...

Rey sat erect in the middle of the huge circular bed, completely naked, the covers up to her waist. Her smaller round breasts, firm and pointed, jiggled slightly every time she spoke. There were tears in her hazel eyes as she looked at Solo, who sat in the chair facing the bed, holding a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He was naked except for pale green silk boxer shorts. It was beginning to annoy him.

“Cut it out,” he said. “I’m in no mood for dramatics.”

“You don’t love me,” she said, her voice tense with emotion.”

“Love has nothing to do with it,” he answered, slurring his words. “So stop being the martyr.”

“I love you,” she said, starting to get up.

“Don’t,” he said, waving her back. “One fiasco a night is enough.”

She hesitated a moment, then almost timidly, she looked sideways at him. “Are you too fat?”

“Goddamn!” Solo shouted. “Drop it. Let’s not make a De-Mille spectacular out of it. So I couldn’t. Well, so what? If you wanna so bad, find someone else.”

“I don’t want it,” she cried, crushed and insulted. “You have no right to say that. I want you, not it.”

“Oh, what the hell,” he said, suddenly tired of the whole subject. “It’s not you. You’re still an appetizing little dish. It’s this,” and he lifted the drink, staring at the amber liquid. “It dampens the fires of spring,” and he smiled for the first time since jumping out of bed earlier, cursing loudly to cover up his failure.

“It’s been a long time,” she said. “Maybe you should see a doctor.”

“Sure, another specialist,” he said, “and get hormone injections. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Then we’d have a sweet old time rattling the bed springs all night.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice low and husky. “That’s what I want. Like it used to be.”

“Sure, sure,” he said. “I used to be a big man in bed. Carried a big club. Now I’m a big man in a chair and I carry a big bottle. So, as I said before, if you’re interested in bedtime gymnastics, do your shopping somewhere else.”

“You’re trying awfully hard to hurt me. Does it make you feel better?” She cried, the tears beginning to overflow, her voice getting higher all the time.

“Take it easy,” he said. “You’re getting manic again.”

“I’m not manic,” she screamed.

“Sure you are,” he said, grinning. “You’ll flip for sure one of these days and walk out on me.”

“And what are you?” she cried, shaking her head angrily, the light-brown hair flying, the hazel eyes snapping, the smaller breasts propelled into frenzied motion. “Perfectly sane?”

“No,” he said, looking at her gravely. “I’m the worst of the worst. It’s always worse when you know it. And I’ve known it a long time.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Now, I know many things,” he said, ignoring her apology. “I don’t know how I know them but there is no cosmic goo about it, I’m sure. My family was Scotch. The Scotch are often gifted with powers that the old folks used to call second sight. A strange foreboding. And my Scotch blood is working right this minute and it tells me that there is one thing—”

“I don’t want to hear about the Skywalkers.”

Solo drained the drink and smiled. “Earn your keep,” he said, holding up the glass.

She sat for a moment, composing herself, then slowly stood up on the bed, her half-covered heavy-lidded eyes watching for his reaction. She stood completely naked, her tall, slim, mature body frozen in the soft pink light of the room. 

Then slowly she walked across the huge bed, her wide, hills and dales swaying seductively with the sinking of each foot in the deep foam-rubber mattress. Solo watched without interest. She stopped at the edge of the bed and glanced back at him before stepping down. He noticed how firm her buttocks were, how much they shook as she walked out of the room. But it didn’t do a damn thing for him.

“Please don’t ever lose that thick wavy hair. I’ll love you even if you get fat, but I would hate to have you go bald.”

“Baldness doesn’t run in my family.” He lit another cigarette and tried to relax.

“They hurt you!”

“I don’t think so. After all I know people pretty well. I never put myself in a position to get hurt.”

She came back with the drink and he took it from her as she leaned over to kiss him hard on the mouth. She tried to press against him and he brushed the cold, wet glass against her breast. She jumped back, startled, her face struggling to control the anger that flashed in her eyes.

He stretched out his legs and raised the drink to his lips. She was standing before him, her smaller pointed breasts mutely staring at him. 

“Get back to bed,” he snapped.

She went back reluctantly, frowning, her full mouth set hard, but the rest of her completely at ease in nudity.

“Screw you,” she said, settling herself in the center of the bed again with the blankets wrapped around her waist. “You dead bastard.”

The thought of it again was suddenly abhorrent to Solo. It brought back the whole horrible nightmare before his eyes. Especially the part where her eyes were smoky with hate. He felt himself getting sick and he fought against the angry growling in his stomach. He swallowed hard and tried to think of something else. Think of the baby. Maybe it would be a girl. That would be real nice. They’d send her to a good college. How about that? Him, Ben Solo, an ex-con with a daughter in college. A boy would be nice, too. Anything would be nice. Anything at all. Just as long as he didn’t have to think of having dead prick. But as hard as he tried, he could not get away from the nightmare. It rolled over everything else, and finally he gave himself to it, seeing it acted out in his mind, over and over again, until the vomit rose to his throat and he stood up, his hand over his mouth, his eyes wildly searching about. Then Rey was at his side, directing him to the sink on the other side while his tall, thick body shook with the spasms of retching, until there was nothing left to come up but the thought and the habit and the dry heaves.

Rey led him back to the bed and Solo sat down stiffly, embarrassed by his weakness. She was wearing a red nylon négligée that did plenty for what it hid even though what it hid was no secret anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely audible.

“Skip it,” Rey said. “Ben. Ben.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“Whatever’s on your mind. Baby, you look like you’re in trouble.”

“Why?” 

“Because you don’t act like it. Something’s been troubling you for weeks. Don’t you think I know? Listen, Ben... either it’s a marriage or it isn’t. If you have any troubles, they’re half mine.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t want half of ‘em?”

“Whether I want them or not, I have a right to them.”

“Yeah, I guess you do at that.” 

“After all, nothing’s too tough for us. We beat the First Order together. You brought B.B. through pneumonia. What is it, Ben?”

Solo tried to dope it out, a screwy thing like that. But it was slippery than a piece of wet soap. “Rey, I... don’t know how to tell you. I don’t have the words to fit…”

“I know how bad you feel, Ben. I’ve tossed my cookies on a lot less than this.”

He looked up and saw Rey laughing, and then, slowly at first, he began to laugh.

“Rey… you knew?”

“Sure, Rey knew it all the time.”

“Then you ain’t disappointed in me?”

“Disappointed...? Ah, Ben! I’m so proud of you! The way you fought your way up from nowhere. And, you know, it takes a real commitment for a husband to get sick for his expectant wife.”

“Rey — baby — I love you! Oh, I love you!”

She went to him, throwing herself on top of him, pressing down hard with her full, firm body. They were looking deep into each other’s eyes, not more than inches apart, and he found himself staring into the magic of those cat-green, almost gilded, eyes, now disappeared under the slowly closing eyelids, eyelids decorated with the longest, darkest, most beautifully curved eyelashes he had ever seen. He watched as her now sightless face moved closer to his and suddenly the urge that had been dormant for so long came to life and he felt it stir all through his body. Felt himself go weak, go strong. And she felt it and pressed hard, her whole body moving against his, and he kissed her, hard and furious, feeling her teeth cut into his lip, and he pressed up against her and she pressed down, and the whole world stopped and only they soared forward and outward and upward.

It was 3:30 p.m. when Ben Solo parked the low-slung custom-built 1955 Silencer Galactica Concept in front of the El Rey Club. He also owned the cabstand down the line that circled the fares back to the club. If it got too lonely in the city, there was a little cantina down the street called “Han’s.” It was nice and quiet. A man there was hot stuff at whippin’ that ivory and played American music for a dollar. “My Melancholy Baby” was a popular request. You sipped bourbon and shut your eyes and it was like a little place on Coronet Street. He lit a cigarette. 

He heard the din inside the pad and a few minutes later, the doors flew open, disgorging hundreds of pearl-divers, busboys, hostesses, table captains, cooks, delivery men carrying cases of whiskey, wine, lobster, shrimp, stacks of table linen and sides of beef, mentalists, acrobats, comics, trained animals, jugglers, musicians, torch singers and chorines in the briefest of glittering costumes flooding the kitchen and show floor, filling the air with their chatter and laughter. It was at the moment completely deserted. The bartender had been at work, preparing the bar for its evening business. A collection of empty bottles were on one end of the bar, the glassware was completely covered by white cloths and a can of bar polish was on the bar with a polishing rag. Chairs were stacked on the tables and in the booths. Ben watched them all and felt old and useless. Like he couldn’t find a fat man in a phone booth. 

Slip, a fine-featured young man, rose to greet him, reaching out to shake Solo’s hand, deferentially. “It’s the Big Bankroll!” 

Slip had played trumpet in a small orchestra. He was more than good — he was a genius… That kid had an ear! He could tell you the pitch of a belch! But Slip started looking for kicks. It was small-time stuff at first — just Benzedrine… But soon Slip went on — to mootah, and then to the killer drug — Horse. That was the story from Nines, the slush-pump, who heard it from Zeroes, the doghouse. Slip popped into jail so fast it’d gave him the bends. Then he copped a gig at the El Rey Club and had been flying straight ever since. 

Apparently, on a night of tropic terror — in a City made for Romance! Death and danger lurked under the Latin skies — Slip had attracted the attention of the gangsters, those odd phenomena of _porteño_ home life, who followed him round and threatened to put the arm on him unless he paid for protection. Slip reported the matter to Solo, who furnished Slip with an escort to see him safely home in the small hours of the morning.

“What’s the trouble? You’re scared, kid,” Solo said. 

“Me? No.”

“I can smell it. I spent twelve years where everybody was scared. What is it?” 

“Nothin’, Boss, I tell ya.” 

“Who is it? Have they got their teeth in you?” 

“You’re too stir-wise for me, Boss. A gang of racketeers made overtures for me to join and I refused.”

“And now they’re putting the squeeze on you.”

“They only want me to join so they know where to put the finger on me. And some nice night, I walk into an ambush and get blown apart. I’m not worth a hundred grand! They gave me twenty-four hours to raise the cabbage and I’d better kick through. They’re not fooling.”

Afraid the heat would come close like the Siamese twins and raid the joint. That was the idea. A dead gabriel always rated an investigation. The stiff would turn up in a dirty back-alley, throat cut ear to ear, and then the shamuses would get curious and wonder about a few things. 

So, alright, they don’t trace Slip. They trace Solo, hang it on him and _he_ takes the load of juice. 

Solo had a nice trade worked up. Cornered a good spot. A thing like a beef about a murder rap would crab the whole setup. He couldn’t afford to get anything like that associated with his name and jeopardize his other spots. 

If you came in the club now, you saw activity, people, but when he first opened there were nights he didn’t have five people in the club and four of them on the cuff. Building the club had been long and hard. He couldn’t have any publicity. All it would take would be one picture. The next night he’d be back to five people in the club and four of them on the cuff. 

Solo had crawled back to his flat as the population of the city was headed to work. But he couldn’t get the poor kid out of his mind. Not only did he pay them, but he was worrying about them? He had picked a fine time to get religion. The more the hoodlums scared his principal, the better became Slip’s playing. He got those shivery shaky, tremolo effects that the customers really liked. 

Some of the valet boys whistled when they saw the Silencer and jostled each other playfully until they were standing before the low-slung car, kidding and laughing, but their eyes full of admiration.

Solo smiled wistfully. How ironic life was. There he sat in his office with Rey in a silver frame on his desk, the personification of success, envied and admired by these young men, while he would give everything to be like them, young again, with the whole world ahead, and everything was new and exciting.

Solo lit another cigarette and longed for a drink. He could use one right now. A double Scotch on the rocks. It would relax him, soothe his jangled nerves.

He thought about Rey and felt the passion again stir inside of him. Something important had happened last night. He knew now that his fleeting impotence had been due to a mental block. The fear of being impotent had made him impotent. There was no fear now. Only desire. And more desire. He wanted Rey. Wanted her now. But that would have to wait until tonight. Man, he felt as virile as a stallion at a breeding farm.


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.

Some people possessed talent. Others were possessed by it. When that happened, the talent became a curse. Han Solo knew right from the beginning. But before Ben Solo learned that simple truth, he had to take a short trip to the Plaza. There was a little café next to a movie house. It wasn’t much of a club really. It was the kind of joint where you could have a sandwich and a few watered drinks and a guy could run interference for his girl on the dance floor. Solo would sit there in the afternoons working on his sunburn and playing cards until the place closed up, which usually meant four in the morning. He had also put that money to work and dropped a bundle on a racetrack, where many of the bangtails that came in were fixed. As a gambler who never gambled, Solo shortened the odds and had a wide organization of tipsters; very deep pockets from some among his money men who represented syndicates in Singapore, Zürich, Vienna, all over; and the willingness to pay a premium for good dope, regardless of the source. Anybody that stuck with Solo got taken cared of. Solo won the bets, but he discovered somewhat divinely that gambling could be a most unproductive pursuit, even with loaded dice, marked cards, or, as in his case, some little flea trap. For somewhere beyond him, a wheel was turning and his number would soon come up black 13. If he didn’t believe it, he’d just ask the croupier, the very special one on the edge of his consciousness, who kept needling him. 

I mean, what’s all this “alter ego” jazz? 

_Well, I’ll tell you. I’ll try to make it as simple as possible. I’m the fate every man makes for himself. You generally find me at the bottom of the barrel. I’m the strength dredged up in desperation. I’m the last gasp._

That’s supposed to be clear, huh? You’re nothing! Nothing! Understand? I won’t remember you anyway after a few hours of solid sleep.

_Oh, I’m something. Really, I’m something. In some cases, I’m something very good. In some cases, depending upon the person I’m representing, I can work miracles._

You do?

_Oh, I come with heroism, sacrifice, strength, and even better than that, I can epitomize everything noble in men._

You can, heh? 

_Now, in your case, Benjamin Solo, your requirements were quite small._

What do you mean, quite small?

_Your dreams were rather insignificant, your aspirations hardly worth mentioning. I mean to say, if you had asked to have your own chain of ultra-high class joints, and run them cleanly and with honor, that would’ve been quite a moment, wouldn’t it?_

Yeah. That would’ve been the greatest. 

_Or if you’d have asked to perform an act of heroism, let’s say, that would’ve been qualification for the respect you seek. This, too, would’ve been exemplary, right?_

I suppose that would’ve been alright, yeah. 

_But, as it is, Benny, what was your heart’s desire?_

Well, I wanted... I wanted... I wanted to...

_To be a big man. That’s right, yes. Big in the sense you could outgrow your genetic legacy. Your face can overshoot its past reflections in the mirror. The pitch is too heavy for you. You’ll have better luck carrying your own trade. Besides, I only cater to the smart set._

I am not cheap! I am not cheap! You’ve got to crawl before you can creep. All I ever wanted out of life was the fact I could walk down the street and people not stare at me like a freak! I am not cheap, buddy! I don’t come cheap. I’ve got my heart’s desire. 

Just a few days ago he had staked a claim to a goldmine. A corner numbers agent, who knew Solo well enough to get a cut from his racket, dug up a couple of Madrid types down at a convention. Sharp dressers. They wanted to spend a nice sociable evening playing tiddlywinks. Solo had all the angles figured. Wiseguy. Big shot. Another rap and he knew he was washed up. The next time, they’d throw the key away. He wasn’t cured, understand? He was scared. So he decided to go straight, ish. Boy, that was a very funny joke. Him, go straight. With what? What did he know? What could he do? Case a joint? Knock over a bank? Stick up a payroll messenger? That was all. Who wanted to give a crook a job? Not him, if he was handing out jobs. So he didn’t blame them. He had it coming to him. Only that didn’t solve the coffee and cake problem. On account that a crook got just as hungry as an honest man, see? But that didn’t count. Because he was finished. He was done. Why feed a dead man even if he was walking around the avenue and having a couple of beers? Ask the coppers. They knew. They were wrapping a cage around you every time they looked at you. You couldn’t be a crook anymore because you used up your chances. And you couldn’t be honest because nobody would let you. So what? So you kept moving, ducking down alleys, always looking back over your shoulder like something was after you. And something _is_ after you. Something you couldn’t hide away from. What was it that old choirboy used to sing in condemned row? 

_I went to the rock to hide my face  
But the rock cried out, no, no hiding place..._

No hiding place. That was the way he felt that morning sitting there half-asleep with the beer and the darkness, sick and miserable. With no place to go and nothing to do. Only that music from the movie next door kept jarring him awake. Even four cups of coffee hadn’t helped. His head was muddy and dull and seemed in a daze. He tried to keep telling himself that he hadn’t sold out again, that he had not betrayed what he knew to be true about himself. 

Some kids scurried by, playing cops and robbers. He remembered what Skywalker had said, that the days of the outlaw were over. They would know all about it in history books. He learned his stuff the hard way, but in robbing is there any easy way? The old mob was busted up. They were dead. They were gone. Or in the big dough. Not so easy to find a guy who needed a buck nowadays. Nobody’s hungry. Everybody lived chiseling everybody else. It came to Solo very natural. If he lived five hundred years ago he guessed he’d be a baron maybe, a robber baron… He’d live on a rock and chisel the city down below and everybody would call him “baron”... Now he lived in a penthouse and everybody called him “Boss.”

He had a feeling he had gone as far as he could, the way he was working it. Fifteen years ago he was the best there was. The world spun right past him. In the Forties, he was great. In the Fifties, he might’ve made the switch. But today he was finished. It was curtains. As dead as the headlines the day he went into prison.

Maybe Luke was right.

Maybe it wasn’t too late, if he changed his tactics. He wasn’t aged yet. He seemed old and tired, but only because he had been playing since he was in short pants… more than half of his life with his past catching up to him. Afraid of his own shadow.

And then he saw the owner of the place coming out of the sun and it was like a sign. His name was even Gabe. Karius. Gabe had a bad Saturday night habit. The dough from the bookie shops and the take from the gambling at the club he counted in his office every Saturday night. Happy guy. Thirty, forty grand. Got on Gabe’s mind. With that kind of capital a guy could bow out while he still had his luck. Solo hadn’t talked to anybody who hadn’t tried to sell him something for ten days. If he didn’t talk, he’d think. It was too late in life when you started thinking. He could go down to the cliff and look at the drink like a good tourist. But it was no good if there wasn’t somebody you could turn to and say, “Nice view, huh?” It was the same with the churches, the relics, the moonlight or a Cuba libre. Nothing in the world was any good if there was nobody to share it. So they haggled. At last, when they were all worn out, they hit a compromise — Solo’s price. And Gabe signed over the deeds to the club. Now, Ben Solo had his own headquarters. It was in the heart of the city, front row seat to the real action. In the meantime, the place would be closed till they got it fixed like Solo wanted it. He had one last twinkle before he blew the trap. “Whaddaya gonna do with all that loot, Gabe?”

“I’m going to get an operation so I can play violin again.”

“Any message?” 

“Yeah, one from that gorgeous British general giving me all kinds of english. Should I leave out the curse words?”

“Yeah.”

“No message.”

“Well, that does it. I’ve been away too long. I need to fall in and give the General a quick hello.”

“Aw, stick around, will ya? What are you so nervous about? She’ll keep!”

“That’s what you think. I can’t take a chance. The fleet’s in and she’s defense-minded!”

“G’wan, Romeo! Get out of here.” Gabe laughed. “I think that guy’s got ants in his romance.”

That time he slammed the door when he came in. She came out of the bedroom in a burst of perfume and loveliness. She had on a sheer green creation that fastened tight around her body and was cut low in front. It looked like it would come floating off any second, revealing that classy chassis of hers. 

She also had a look of joyful expectation... until she saw him. For the briefest instant an expression of uneasy surprise marked her beautiful features, then they composed themselves into her usual poker face. 

“Benjamin Solo… Where have you been? What happened? You look like you’ve been rolled.”

Struck by the lovely vision, it was like he didn’t have any guts. “I had a rendezvous with a couple of bullfighters. Madrid types. They had twenty grand in traveler’s checks. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. It was their first trip to Buenos Aires, the sky’s limit, and they were rarin’ to go.” He smiled wanly at her in appreciation. “Good morning, Countess.”

B.B. bounded out of the room and Solo stooped with open arms, attempting to hug the dog.

“Hello, you scoundrel — did you miss me? Of course you missed me.”

B.B. looked up at Solo with his head cocked and those judgemental little black eyes.

“Don’t ‘Countess’ me, you big lummox.” And she was more than a little put out. “I hope those matadors were good losers, because you’ve got a date in the hot seat!”

“But I loved you before your title—”

She screamed her bitter disappointment. “Three days and nights and no word from you!” 

He looked in her eyes a long moment — touched to the depths by her beauty and allure — Finally, very softly, “I’m a busy man in a busy town.”

She hesitated. “A man should never be that busy. I was thinking the most horrible thoughts! Seeing you lying in the gutter somewhere with a knife in your back—”

“Ah, you should have caviar for breakfast, sour cream and blinis and shashlik,” he said, ingratiatingly. “Santa ordered a swell feed for you.”

“— or hiding in some cellar, running for you life!” For a moment, she started to give in, realizing what she was headed for, but carried along by his lure. 

“Running? Me? Now, you know me better than that. I never run from anybody.”

“You’re not in trouble again, are you?”

“Trouble? When it comes to gambling, guys like us have our own code of honor.”

She frowned beautifully. She looked so tempting that he still wanted her, even at that moment. He had to fight to keep from taking her right then and there. But the thought of that café conversation pitched low, while impulsive, came to his rescue.

“Well, that’s all straight now and what I want to talk to you about. It’s the biggest thing I’ve ever found. I got it right here in the palm of my hand. We’re gettin’ in on the carriage trade!” he said, almost lovingly. “This is it. I’m taking over this joint. Up to this point, this dinner, dining and dancing emporium racket has been running on a penny-ante basis. That’s out. From now on, I’m organizing it. And whenever I organize anything, I make it pay big money or else. This town is full of big shots from the sticks. They keep pouring in by the carload looking for one thing: The kind of time they can go home and brag about. Torch songs with soft lights. They know the kind of action they want and we’re going to give it. From champagne to hotel suites. But they’re going to pay for it. Plenty.”

He looked at her. Looking back at him, she recognized the thoughtless, boyish enthusiasm which precluded his feeling any insult in what he had done. Touched by it, trying to maintain her anger, in spite of her shock, but unable to trust herself to his embrace, she nodded. “In other words, a clip joint.”

“Run on a high-class basis!” Solo, looking down at her, puzzled — sensed something wrong and was boyishly hurt. His face fell. “You don’t like this big idea.”

“It would only mean more trouble.”

_“You don’t like this big idea.”_

“Okay, Ben. Your ideas always have so much imagination. You’re an artist without an art.”

“What does that crack mean?”

Anguished — tears of disappointment in her eyes, but unable to hurt him, “Well, that’s something that’d make a man very unhappy. Groping for the right lever, a means to which to express himself.”

Solo was deeply interested, not knowing the meaning of the words. Then he spoke very solemnly — thinking it was some sex perversion, “You love that about me. That’s a very nice thought.”

“Yes, but it can be dangerous.”

Then he became furious. “Oh, no you don’t! Not again. Every time you talk you mix me up so I can’t think straight for a week.”

“Stop sulking,” she said, amused at Solo’s discomfort.

She led the way. He followed exhaustedly, and in his hangdog way, obviously frustrated by the girl.

“But it wasn’t my fault. Didn’t you get my phone message saying I got into a big game with the boys down at the slop chute?”

“Liar!” she reared up in anger again. “What did you think? That I was going to be a meek little housewife in horn-rimmed spectacles while you polish me up like a glorified cuspidor after a marathon of gambling and boozing?”

“Don’t call me a liar. A man can only stand so much. I’m tired of you contradicting me. And when a guy calls me a liar, there’s my honor to be considered.”

“Your honor? You got nothing ain’t lost in you from the bottom of your arches to where you part your hair! Which is pretty tough to see from down here. And when you die, my everloving, they’re going to have to screw you in the ground.”

“Am I crooked? How about that? Tell me. You got to believe me. Am I crooked? No, tell me, am I crooked?”

“That’s a silly question coming from a man who ‘knows all the answers.’”

“I may not be Model Citizen Number One, but I pay my taxes, wait for traffic lights, and buy twenty-five tickets to the Widows and Orphans’ Ball. Come on, why else would I leave you alone for three days? Ain’t my style. The bed cold… your body needing me… nightie probably so thin I could see every part of you… You know what? I’m aching now just thinking about what I missed! I’m only human!”

“I’m not sure you are!”

“No?”

“No!”

“Thanks.”

“Ah, you smart guys are prized suckers! And I don’t have to be too bright to trip you up. Give you rope and all I have to do is watch and wait. And sometimes not too long either.”

“So you told me.”

“I’m smart, too, and I’ve been around.”

“I’ll bet! You look like a fugitive from a junior prom.”

“It’s an old routine. You’re acting your part fine, but I’m a bad audience, Solo.”

“You know all the smart angles, alright. You can’t miss, Mrs. Solo. But you got me figured all wrong. What else do you want me to do? Come on, baby, give your everloving another chance...” 

He was an excellent salesman, adept at pitching woo. No soap. He had that look in his eye. Rey had kept it there, but it was wearing and tearing on her nerves. 

“What do you want? Stop pawing at me. I don’t want to listen to anything you have to say. A lot of crust you got!”

“...Key come with this?”

“No. You’ll have to open it with your own inimitable style.”

“Well, I could if I had the combination!” he said, brusquely.

She looked at him sort of funny, then turned her head. He was sorry he had shouted at her and wanted to apologize but she got up. She brushed him out of her hair and started to walk away. He jumped to his feet and caught up with her.

How about it, ego? What do you say?

_I say nothing doing._

Ego, I’m conversing with you!

_That’s not the way. I should treat you with some kind of respect? Oh, that’s right. You were a big shot once. Big shot, ha! You look like a tramp. Why don’t you press your pants? Change your shirt once in a while? Why don’t you shave regular?_

Hey, ego!

_No dice, Benny. She’s losing her temper. Clink, clink. I surrender, dear._

Why, you couldn’t blow up a paper bag! You’re yellow! I oughta smear that refined nose of yours all over your pan!

(Razzberry sound.)

I’ll take it from you, kid. Go ahead. Fool around. Say anything you want. Aw, why do I keep coming to you for? I can’t use you. It’s a waste of time.

_You had it once. You still got it. Besides, I need you._

Why do I need you? There isn’t anything that you could do that I can’t do better. Anything. At least I got the nerve.

_You like yourself, heh?_

Naw, I’m not bragging. Just talking cold facts. 

_Well, don’t get too good, kid. When you get like that it ain’t so hot._

Why, you — 

_Dry up! You’ve said enough._

Aw, come on. Let’s get out of here! This is a waste of time. You heard her. I got a one-way ticket to the hot seat. Right now I’d rather be dealing myself a straight flush.

_Keep quiet. You see, Benny, it ain’t right for a healthy man like you to be inactive. You’ll get sick. I don’t like it when a man is morbid and depressed._

You’re no good, I tell you. You’re afraid. You let her kick me around. You saw her do it. You just lapped it up. You didn’t even make a move. Maybe if I was vicious and mean she might like me better.

_I told you to shut up. You’re too dumb and fractured to see her side of it._

Her side of it? What’s there to see?

_She don’t like to be alone, naturally. You would understand that._

Ah, baloney and you know it.

_You see, Benny, I take everything into consideration. The reason you keep coming to me. This is sure-fire. You let me plan the job. Just like old times. Maybe I just wanted to find out if you were inactive or not. You know, sometimes a man in your spot finds it hard to get back, to get started again._

How do you mean?

_Well, it’s rather difficult to explain. There comes a time in a man’s life when everything seems to freeze up. Doesn’t it, Benny? You want to get started again, but you can’t. You don’t know how. And after a few terms in prison, what are you fit for? You go through the motions, yes, but it’s not really you. You’re scared. You’re afraid to even talk to people. Why, even if some fresh kid says to you on the street you walk away and keep your mouth shut for fear it might start more trouble. You’re finished. Washed up. Isn’t that so, Benny?_

Ego, what’s the deal?

_Just like old times, eh, Ben? Hiya, big shot! I swear, I knew it! Why, you’re even starting to walk different, boy!_

Solo could see he was getting nowhere with her, so he changed tactics and began to play in a different style: “Anybody ever tell you you got a nasty disposition?”

“If I have a nasty disposition, it’s because I’m roped and branded to a nickel and dime heister who can’t tell a real diamond from a baseball. You’re supposed to be a big operator, jet propelled.”

“Look, honey doll, this suite is fifty bucks a day, delivered and paid for by Mrs. Solo’s son, Benjamin, on profits collected on over a potful of years when you weren’t even in the picture. Matter of fact, I need you like I need a three-time conviction.”

When they got to the bedroom he started to shake and closed the door on B.B. Then he blanked out because it wasn’t him anymore. Something had taken over his mind and his body and he had no more control over himself than a dead man had. He looked at her vexed beautiful face. 

She wondered how he was going to play it now. She knew he was up to something. So he intended to stall around, did he? Fine.

He got up slowly. He was charged with more lust than a man could hold.

“Funny — B.B. knows there’s something up. He keeps scratching at the door.”

“That little mutt’s a plain nuisance!” he burst out. “Won’t button his gabber.”

There was the sound of barking, followed by sharp, insistent yelps. 

“That’s B.B. I told you he knew. Look me up when you’re through playing Little Caesar.”

Another long howl. She must have seen the look in his eyes that meant the showdown had come. She shut her mouth in mid-sentence and backed away. 

He walked slowly toward Rey. “Listen to Miss Culture of 1961,” he said, cool and hard, and looked right at her, “Patron of the Arts. ‘Never mind hockshops,’ she says. ‘Oh, let’s get up in life,’ she says. ‘Let’s knock over a curio shop, on account of curio shops are loaded with objects d’art worth a fortune.’ Two weeks of planning the whole night on the heist, and what have we got for it? Four hundred pounds of junk. I could’ve tossed dice for a whole day and made more. Look, baby, the next time you get a hot idea on a heist…”

“You gonna throw that in my face?” her voice low and vehement. “Okay, you’re right. I slipped that one time. I almost cooked us both.” She ran over to him and pounded on his chest. Then she let out a scream. “You’re right out of _Mutiny on the Bounty_ , domineering bully! You know, you’d just better stay away from me, and if you knew what was good for you—”

“Oh, I know what’s good for me: _You_.”

“— Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me, don’t — Oh, no. No!”

He found her throat and pressed his lips against the rapid beating of her pulse, kissing a path over soft, sweet skin tasting her, nibbling her earlobe. “Now, who am I, baby?” 

“Ben!” Before she finished moaning, she was draped over his shoulder. Her négligée had opened. Her firm round breasts were spread out like two big pink splotches.

“Oh, you — Alright. Alright, sweetheart, you’ve had your fun. Now let’s get down to serious business.”

Rey was stunned. She stared at Solo for a long moment, then glared as she realized she had been duped. Solo played it straight, cut-and-dried, but he couldn’t keep the triumphant glitter from showing in his eyes. Rey’s face softened. A smile touched her lips. She inclined her head in a tiny bow to Solo.

“You play rough.”

“Oh, I can play smooth. Especially now that I softened you enough to be taken. Only I won’t put you to sleep… yet.”

“Okay, you get one more chance. No sense fighting you.”

“There’s my smart girl. Give a little, get a little: That’s my theory.”

“Talk about a one track mind!”

“You gonna knock it?” he shifted his body an inch and winced gallantly.

Rey’s face was again reverted to that expression of angelic sweetness. “‘Course not. But this doesn’t wash out anything. You just threw me a curve, that’s all.”

She lay back across the satin sheets, legs and arms akimbo, relaxed and aroused. He covered her with hungry kisses, as though her every curve were an attribute of a goddess, and each caress of his lips, the praise of a poet. Their voices melded rhythmically in ecstatic exclamation, and will fell prey to desire. Personal protests and contests were forgotten. Shot down in flames as the flat of his tongue washed over her.

Curled up together in a tangle of satin, they basked in the afterglow of passion like lizards sunning themselves on a rock. “I’ve decided to forgive you,” she said. “But promise me if these impulses start just reach for a phone instead of a gun.”

“I’ll tell you the truth, I’ve had enough. I’ll hang around this dump for a while and relax. With my dream doll beside me, I figure myself a pretty lucky guy. She has looks, brains, and all the accessories. She’s better than a deck with six aces.”

Rey gave a gasp and then began to laugh a little hysterically.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“It’s B.B. — he picked the lock — here he comes.”

B.B. came running down the middle of the room toward the bed.

“Ain’t I got enough trouble without a fool dog?”

B.B. came up panting, jumping on the bed, landed right onto Solo’s crotch. Solo doubled over violently and rolled onto his side.

“B.B.! You traitor! Right in the how-do-ya-do!”

The little dog sat up and barked sharply. Rey opened the covers on her side, and B.B. was under them like a shot and in between them on the bed. 

“You four-legged bandit, go rob somebody else!”

“Oh, you’re full of talk! I think you’re glad.”

There was a long silence. Then Solo reached over and patted B.B. Rey’s face was suddenly all tenderness. She put her arm around him kissed him on the cheek. 

“I haven’t seen you in so long, I don’t even know ya.”

Then he sat in bed, smoking, while she dressed. Her underthings were black and her breasts heavy, young and firm. She was breathtaking — tanned skin — long brunette hair… everything to excite a man all over again. She was brushing her hair — yawning adorably — while he watched her. He was high on love and he wanted her. He wanted her in spades.

When she finished she put down the brush, she came over and sat on the edge of the bed. Then: “Darling…”

“Yes?”

“A little general is coming to dinner. I just got the flash from the Doc. And here’s one for the book: It’s a Solo.”

“What!”

“I said—”

“No, I heard what you said. It just knocked me for a loop. Even though I’ve been expecting it.”

“You aren’t going to accept that offer, are you?”

“You mean the club?”

“Yes. We’ll hardly see each other now.”

“That’s what’s worrying you?”

“Well… for one thing, if you insisted on operating a nightclub, our paths would divide. We couldn’t be together because I would be busy with board and committee meetings, or jiu-jitsu and ceramics lessons, and you would be running monetary enigmas somewhere.” She shook her patrician head. “Oh, darling. You’re getting tired of me, otherwise you would want us to be together.”

“I do want us together. It’s a break for me, kid. You know what you do to me. Exhibit A. I can’t keep my hands off you. Let’s talk about it some other time.” He reached for her but she evaded him, went to the vanity table and looked at herself in the mirror. 

“There’s nothing else to talk about, darling. You’ve made your choice.” 

“You don’t have to snap a guy’s ear off for wanting to be his own boss. You’re the one who said it’s about time I got my mind out of the sports section and onto the front page.”

“Some boss. A high-class guy, a deep thinker! That clip joint’s a front for the whole works. They got a trick entrance.”

“What do you think I’m gonna be doing? Well, I’ll cue you. It’s very simple. We push booze and put on a good show, we bring in a few nickels. With that, we buy groceries, and the grocer brings in a few nickels. Squares call it ‘earning a living.’ You might have heard of it somewhere.”

“I might have, but it wasn’t from _you_.”

She picked up a bottle of perfume, moistened her fingers with the stopper and daubed the scent behind her ears and in the little valley between her breasts. He got out of bed, put on a dressing gown and walked over to her, contritely. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but the nightclub has nothing to do with me cutting up. You got the wrong slant on it altogether… skip it.”

“Very well, darling, we won’t talk about it.” 

“Fine.” He put his arms around her and kissed her but she stood cold like a statue. “You still sore?”

“No, darling. I’m not sore at all.”

“Well, cut out the thick iceberg act.”

“Why should I be otherwise? You have a brand new act. It’s got a beard a mile long!”

“What do you mean?”

“Your nightclub, remember? You chose your nightclub. You can’t have me, too.”

“Stop making a Federal case out of it.”

“You’re like a spoiled little boy that wants to keep his cake and eat it.”

“Come on, let’s forget about everything… now.”

“I’m sorry, darling, but I can’t.” She pushed him away and walked toward the door. He followed her and grabbed her arm. “Where the hell are you going?”

“I got the women’s club thing. I’m sleeping in the other room when I get back, if you don’t mind. Maybe it’s just a new twist in the same can of corn. After all, once a thief, they say.”

He wanted her and he knew in his heart he was going to do anything she asked him to do. Her coldness hadn’t killed his desire. He was shaking with passion so he couldn’t think straight. He had to pay off. He was too big a guy to welch out on a deal. He just couldn’t… but his body longing for hers fogged his mind. She must have sensed how he felt. Her arms wound around him and her mouth crushed his lips. He grabbed her, “You’re not going anywhere. You were just shooting off at the mouth again. You can’t live without me any more than I can live without you.” She pushed him away a little and looked up at him. “You know something, Ben, I think you’re a little bit afraid.”

“A little bit afraid of what?”

“You’re such a little boy, Ben. You’re so easily led into trouble. You just need someone like me to take care of you all the time...” 

He held her tight and kissed her. By that time he’d become light-hearted again. Just passing a bank again would make Solo break out into a cold sweat. The hours seemed to crawl. Rey was far from blind to his inner disturbance and his impatience; she understood how he never looked forward to the evenings, skulking the corridors, lighting up, taking deep drags on his cigarette, trying to kill the torture in his soul, or puttering in the garden, and hotfooting it to the newsstand for the daily papers to read about younger men doing what he used to, that only business, and simple politeness, were compelling him to give this thing daylight — or so he told himself.

“You’ve been fighting something inside you, Ben. Something decent trying to crawl out. That’s called ‘ _noblesse oblige_.’”

“What was that?”

“ _Noblesse oblige_. It’s French. It means the more you got yourself, the more you’re in hock to others for your collar buttons. Like they have back home in the States. The big shots and the little fellas. You got hundreds looking after me and all the other servants and all the pals in the village. The whole mob. They never let Ben Solo down, and Ben Solo never lets them down. You might be called a prime mover. A talent which has to be seen to be believed. You’ll show them how you keep both feet on the ground. Invite them to join your organization. With the resources you could put at their disposal — influence, equipment, man power, information — you should be in a position to start a tremendous operation.”

“A lot of angles to it. All my life I’ve always had one idea in my head: That if a guy did anything for anybody else, he was a sucker. Now look at me. Worrying about mugs I hardly even know. I can’t get a kick out of anything. Everything I’ve done in the past keeps coming up. It’s always there. Every time I look at you, and getting into everything. Every little kiss, every laugh, every mouthful of food we take. Like a guy’s got feelings.”

“Afraid, you mean.”

“But then I’m not even human, am I? I’m just a great big act.”

“I’m sorry, Ben. I—”

“It’s my fault, baby. You’ve been living in a detective story so long you’re naturally suspicious. I should be making you an accessory before the fact. Nothing moves till you say so.”

“You know, leaders aren’t picked or made. They just are. The guy in the crowd with all the answers. He’s the boss. He’s everything a man could be! Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief, fighter, lover, political prince. He’s every man’s man... and every woman’s friend! A guy with broad shoulders... brawny arms... and a reputation! Who can blame the gals for calling him a Superman? That’s you. Oh, darling… I just don’t want to lose you… say you’ll be with me always…”

Under his dressing gown, Solo adjusted his suddenly swelling member. He was half drunk with desire and the effects of the good news. He picked her up and she put her arms around his neck. All he could say then was what she wanted to hear. “Come here. You and me, Mama, and the little general. No more stick-up jobs. You two are worth more than all the money in the world. I learned some things. I learned I’ll never use a gun again. I’ll use a fountain pen. I’m the kind of guy who needs a woman to love him. I need _you_ to love me, Rey. Some men are like that. Without their woman, they’re like a ship floundering without a rudder. They—”

“I know what you mean. Oh, darling… darling. Love me again! Love me now the way I love you.” 

Solo was trying to figure out what had happened. They say you don’t know a woman until after you’ve slept with her. He had been intimate with his wife for a couple years, yet she remained a mystery. You couldn’t tell about her sometimes. She might look like a cardboard doll and at the same time be the hottest nymph that ever backed into a mattress. What was the angle?

“I can’t figure women out at all. You dames are always pullin’ a switch on us.”

“I’ve got news for you. I can’t figure out men. Hold me tight. Please, hold me real tight.”

And he did. And they did not discuss it further, at that moment.

In the shadows, legs flew, chests heaved, hips grinded, and voices panted as Solo and Rey celebrated their triumph with nearly comic abandon. Solo understood it now. The most fun part of being in love was the fighting…

Solo was in the pool. There was a fountain arching over it, the fountain spraying directly into it. He was tired. It had been a rough night and it looked like an even rougher day ahead. 

He was used to getting only four or five hours of sleep, but last night he hadn’t had any sleep at all. Sleep was overrated anyway. The lousy liquor company had given him the run-around with the last batch and he was gonna kick their teeth out. But Finn was able to put it like a diplomat. That kind of strong-arm stuff didn’t go anymore. For that you needed an old head. Any squawks in the Sales Department went on pink slips. Of which, three of their trucks had been hijacked. Sinatra was in town and wanted to hang out with Ren. You know, with Sammy Davis, Juliet Prowse, and all those other guys? Everybody knew Ren, the debonair operator of the swankiest nitespots. But he had no inventory. By the time he had arranged a meeting with Finn and Nodin, daylight had been breaking over the sleeping city. Solo thanked his little apples he didn’t have union problems. He paid his debts — he ran a clean place, so lily white you could eat your dinner off the pavement, a hundred percent legal too, income tax right on the line, social security and all that stuff, and he was real good at signing his name now. When finally he got back to his apartment, he was exhausted. He slipped into the bed, being careful not to wake the sleeping Rey. He snuggled close to her, and inhaled deeply the aroma of her body. He shaved, showered and changed his clothes. He put away half a dozen drinks while puzzling over the frustrating aspects of the labor strikes, silently cursed his fate, then went out and had a thick steak for breakfast. Sitting around gave you the piles. What he needed was a proposition.

He felt a little better then, but still tired. The muscles behind his eyes ached and burned, but his head felt clearer and strangely sharp. Solo wallowed in the pool, diving under the water, then shooting out, his whole torso exposed and glistening, blowing water like a porpoise, then going under again, only to repeat the whole process.

Rey’s eyes fluttered, then opened, in response to the morning light spilling across her face. Rolling over, she found herself facing an empty bed. Solo, Rey thought, was working out his frustration, beating himself into a physical stupor. Rey was pleased. She knew from past experience that the exercise would calm him down, relax him a little, at least for a little while. He must have been really high this morning, Rey thought, smiling ruefully. God, when is he going to flip over that thin dividing line for good? That’s all I need right now. Solo was very highly strung these days. Rosie said the baby could pick up on their stress. They were both in the soup if anything happened. The operation was running like silk and Solo was king, sitting on top of the world. And then everything went crazy. It was in all the papers —

**”The New Mecca For Buenos Aires’ Top Celebrities!”**

**”Everybody Who Is Anybody Is At The _El Rey Club_ By Midnight.”**

Who could resist? Anywhere else in the States, he was a dirty killer. It was fortunate there was a man such as Solo. He was a killer, sure. But who made him a killer? An organization of racketeers and greedy businessmen who formed a syndicate to monopolize all illegitimate business and sources of graft. Solo wouldn’t line up with them. His futile fight to stay independent was the reason they were down here. He had unwittingly done more to clean up the city than all the law enforcement agencies. Because his activity laid bare the existence of incorporated crime. Some might say it was his civic duty to help rage war against crime. Sure, and get himself riddled with bullets. Sorry, but Solo wasn’t _that_ civic-minded. The confidence between an operator and his source of information was just as sacred as the confidence between doctor and patient, lawyer and client, priest and penitent. Instead, there was the secret committee for driving the rats out of town. On the committee were other trustworthy individuals like Solo that worked in between the lines. With this committee, the law would have to lay off you, dipped phones and camera traps. Solo was welcomed into the fold.

After redecorating the place, it made the club seem more intimate when actually it accommodated another twenty-five percent. It was just a pile of sand, silverware, crystal and linen. It was Solo who made it tick. He could get people to do anything he wanted. The club took building. And it was built on one thing: Solo’s personality. That same personality that charmed people then and it could do it now. Solo took care of people who were loyal to him. If the club closed who could the boys have gone to for help? Taking care of the boys, headaches and worries were not for Rey. She found out a long time ago she was her own boss as long as somebody else was her boss. For months she watched him grow more and more in love with the nightclub. It used to frighten her. Now it just made her jealous. That love was worry and manipulation and care. That’s what made the club a success. A big business. It was a place where people went because they didn’t want to go to bed. It was a place where women came to show off their new bracelets and cheats tried to forget over Scotch and soda. It was exactly how Solo was. Exactly. But just for the book, Rey wasn’t jealous anymore. Not since becoming a fixture in the new place. No kidding! A seven-foot-tall, nude gilded metal statue commissioned by Solo in her likeness standing in the lobby. How the sculptor achieved that, she had no clue. And she’d rather not think about it.

After the build up came the letdown. Keep him on ice until the job is done, Rey. She’d keep to it on her end. A woman fighting to save her husband from the padded room. People in love always came out alright. Considering the fact that the course of true love was never supposed to run smoothly. And even when they said you couldn’t live on love. Yes, you could! Like a queen. And people _could_ live on it! Dream on it! Build on it! Float on it! Rey Solo ought to know. She’d been doing it almost three years now, she was in, and stayed in, from now until the fallout got them.

Suddenly he jumped up and whistled, a low suggestive wolf call, clapping his hands loudly together. Except it was the rabbit nailing the wolf. And he bit, alright. Rey walked toward the swimming pool, her brown body glistening in the bright sunlight, her wide hips swaying the small patch of white cloth stretched tight across her full round buttocks in a slow, inviting tempo, her full breasts held loosely by an even smaller wisp of white cloth, the whole front assembly bouncing recklessly with every step of her high heels on the flagstone walk, struggling for release.

“Man,” Solo cried hoarsely. “That’s a woman! Yes,” he agreed with himself. “There’s no doubt about that. You know what I’d like to do, Mrs. Solo?” Solo laughed, slapping the water.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rey said. “I could probably think of something.”

Solo guffawed and slapped again. “Man, that really grabs me. Think of something. You’re goddamn right you could think of something. Man, that kind of meat’s got to be cared for. You got to nourish it. Keep it hot in the winter and cool in the summer like the old song says. Get it?”

“Oh, sure,” Rey said. “Mink in the winter and bikinis in the summer. I follow you, alright.”

“That’s no goddamn lie,” Solo said, his eyes fixed on Rey. She was sitting on a huge foam rubber-pad next to B.B., rubbing suntan lotion on her thighs. She looked up and smiled and Solo whistled again. 

Rey knew that Solo had lost all interest in the books. His thoughts were now on Rey. And what he had on his mind had nothing to do with business. Like most expectant fathers, Solo had a very low boiling point. And Rey kept it up there boiling most of the time. The urge came quick and often, and like everything else in the Solos, it had to be immediately gratified. 

Rey finished with the lotion and turned over on her stomach, her body arched back, straining as her hands reached to undo the knot on the brief halter. She lay facing her man and for a brief moment, when the halter came undone, the huge breasts were completely exposed, then she quickly came forward, resting her weight on them, burying them into the softness of the foam rubber pad.

Solo’s eyes were riveted on Rey.

When Rey looked up, Solo was standing near her, vigorously rubbing his thick, smooth body with a huge Turkish towel, glancing at Rey. There was an instantly recognizable wild and unpredictable look in Solo’s eyes, and as always it made her feel like walking on tiptoe. Nothing should be done to upset that delicate balance wheel now clicking away in that complex brain.

Solo walked toward Rey, grinning.

“You bad girl,” he said, placing a bare foot on her warm buttocks. “You trying to get Daddy all hot in the zipper?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, turning her head around to look up at him, her eyes narrowed against the brilliant sun.

Her apparent innocence and humor pleased Solo. Rey used this trick on chumps in the past to great effect. It threw them off balance — just as it did Solo. Somehow they couldn’t get set, and before they knew it Rey was inside their guard. It was the technique. Every one of them had his own trademark. All these cannons had their own way of doing things. A top-notch cannon like Rey could kiss the dog and lift your watch between ticks.

And other times he’d like to murder her cheerfully.

“You know goddamn well what I mean. Flipping your hips around and showing off your tits like that.” And he laughed, pressing down hard with his foot, slowly rotating her firm round buttocks. 

She smiled a slow suggestive smile that curved her red lips slowly over her white teeth. “No one asked you to watch.”

“Stand up,” he said, removing his foot. 

“What for?”

“Stand up!”

“I’m comfortable.”

“Goddamnit, stand up!”

She reached back to tie the thin strap of white cloth and his foot came up and quickly rolled over her. “Never mind that thing,” he said.

She looked down at the whiteness of her untanned breasts and saw the huge foot come up and cover the left breast. 

“Ben!” she screamed, rolling over and jumping up to her feet.

“Take the bottom off,” he said, his dark eyes now cloudy with desire.

“No, Ben. What if somebody came out?”

“Take it off,” he shouted.

“Geez,” she said, looking back toward the house, her fingers nervously working at the knots holding the small patch of white cloth to her hips. “I feel foolish.”

Solo stepped forward and quickly ripped the cloth off, the violence almost knocking her down. She stood naked in the bright sunlight, her tan body marked by a thin bone-white stripe across her full breasts and a small bone-white triangle that reached halfway up to her navel.

“Okay,” he said, his eyes devouring her naked body. “Run around the pool.”

“Oh, Ben, not that. It makes me feel so foolish.”

“Go on, run.”

“Damn,” she said, stamping her foot, her whole body responding to the sudden shock.

“Run,” he said, taking a step toward her. She started running, slowly at first, awkwardly; then she started running a little faster, her body shaking, fascinating Solo as he stood watching her, his dark eyes taking in every part of her vibrating anatomy.

“Faster,” he called, when she had reached the other side of the pool. And she ran faster, in that typically feminine way, her full breasts bouncing almost in a circular motion, her buttocks jiggling up-and-down. She completed the turn around the pool and stopped before him breathing hard, her red mouth open, hungrily gulping air.

“Come here,” he said, his voice hoarse and trembling. And she came to him and he pulled her close against him, pressing his fat lips roughly against hers, and she felt his big, soft hand slide up her waist and over her breasts, stopping over one of them, and she felt the hardness of him against her, and she tried to pull away, not wanting it to happen here in the bright sunlight.

He released her and then pulled her back, grinning at her, the passion sweeping through him like wildfire. “Get in the pool,” he said, his voice was low and hoarse. “Go on!”

“Oh, Ben, not now. Tonight. Okay? We’ll go to bedsville tonight when nobody’s around.”

“Jump in,” he said, starting to peel off his trunks. 

She ran then dove into the pool, the cool water pure and clean against her hot body. She shot up to the surface, her legs kicking powerfully, her hands pushing back the matted hair from her face. She opened her eyes and saw Solo standing at the edge of the pool, naked, leering down at her, poised for a dive.

“Float on your back,” he called. “Move your legs over this way. I’ll dive between them.”

She rolled onto her back, her arms and legs fluttering lightly, keeping her afloat.

“Here I come,” he called, and dove, his light, smooth body cutting the water in front of her. She struggled to stay afloat, the water swirling about her, then she felt his arm around her waist, pulling her under, turning her around slowly as they drifted to the bottom of the pool.

He kissed her and brought her body close to his. The cold water made her breasts firmer and they felt free in the water, as if they were floating around in space. Then they began to swim once more, and dive underwater and meet each other and kiss and do things like that, the thing kids do. After a while they rested, floating: “Look at the rainbow, Ben. Isn’t it beautiful?” Her mouth parted in a slow smile that had all the happiness in the world wrapped up in it.

To hell with it, he thought. Your body is even more beautiful. She was like a naked pagan goddess floating on top of the golden-lit water. Even though it wasn’t enough to cool his passion. He grabbed her and managed to take her, then and there. 

“Like the fishes,” she laughed, as he eagerly enjoyed her wet slippery flesh.

She was up against the side of the pool. Her arms were on the side of the pool. Her head was back. Her eyes were closed. The water from the fountain was hitting the pool water a few in front of her. 

Her face, tilted against the cerulean sky, her eyes closed… and then she moved her head to the side and back… to the side and back again… as his head was between her legs under the water. She wrapped her legs around his head… as he came up from under the water… and put his mouth on her breast… holding her head back by her hair… pulling her onto him by her butt with the other hand… and then he kissed her, hard… pulled her further away from the side into the water….the spray from the water was hitting her face now… as his hand parted her legs… wider… she moaned as he was inside her… her head back… the spray hitting her face, her head tilted back.

She was against the side of the pool… her face was turned away from him now. His hand was inside her mouth… her mouth open… He held her by the mouth… her head was back… his other hand was inside the cleft of her butt… as he was inside her… under the water. She moved against him, up and down, up and down… back and forth… bump and grind… panting, working away… she’d invented it… as he pulled her backwards… turning her head roughly… she started to moan… the water from the fountain was hitting her in the face… as she came… and tried to breathe.

Finn’s brain struggled with the problem of making a decision. They had a warehouse full of booze sitting in La Plata with the blueprints and no way to get to it in here. Not until now. He had to find guys crazy enough to screw with the union. Not crazy, hungry. Some of the fellas, the boxers at the basement club below the central train station in Constitución, if he asked, they’d drive for them. It could get itchy. Occasionally someone got the blast put on them, had a new navel drilled — but only as a last resort. But if they paid cash, these guys would park their whiskey in the lot. And they weren’t dope peddlers or felons, either. With a yard and a half for the lottery, the night watchman could only see in the daytime. All the Boss had to do was give him and Two Gun the car, the rest of the night off and that was all. They were legitimate, that was the truth. They were honest men. They were honest men today and they would be honest men again tomorrow. It was just for maybe fifteen, twenty minutes that they weren’t _quite_ so honest. Even the most honest man was dishonest that long. And, boy, this consignment was a pushover! 

Solo was waiting for him. He was now walking through the living room and would soon come to a full view of the pool. He had seen the Missus running naked around the pool, and he knew that now they were lying, still naked, on the foam rubber mat. He hated to go out there when they were like that, but maybe it was better for him to see them than Mrs. D’Acy, Nodin, or that hot little mouse Rose Tico. She was elegantly termed the night nurse. At jump street, he knew that the Skywalker-Solos were _very_ jealous husbands. Jealousy — that was a fine tribute. When people envied a man’s possession, he knew he was wise to possess it. Finn remembered their honeymoon in Panama City where they were set up like the Prince and Princess of Wales. Even Finn wore his funeral suit so they’d think he was a Senator. That Danish officer. Olaf. The Missus didn’t even look at him — a woman like that you didn’t have to keep an eye on. Poor fella. He was pushing clouds now. Fishing trip accident. Heaven forgive his boss. He was that kind of man… Wonderful.

He could stand in the doorway and call to him. Maybe that would be best.

Rey was lying on her stomach, while Solo rubbed suntan lotion on the patches of white flesh. She giggled a little as his hand moved across her buttocks, hesitating a moment at the base of her spine, and then quickly moving downward.

“Oh, my God!” she cried, rolling onto her stomach again, trying to cover her exposed buttocks with her hands. Solo looked up and saw Finn, his head down, his eyes fixed on his big feet.

“Come here,” Solo said, grinning at Finn’s embarrassed approach. “Are we okay tonight?”

“We’re all sold out, Boss.”

“‘Cause if Sinatra see any empties, one empty seat, it’s over. Square business. He’s gone, and we’re empty enough to steal the dog’s dinner. We’ll both be looking over the Want Ads.”

“There are no empties. We are standing room only.” 

“We’d better be.”

“I talked to our friend and got a lead on the pay-off man for killing the competition.”

“When you’re legitimate you ain’t got no friends. That’s what I’m kicking about.”

“It was too big for me to handle. I had to go see this certain party. He’s a syndicate big shot and you can go to sleep on that. You just tell me where and when. I’ll take care of the rest,” Finn mumbled, his eyes looking up at the blue sky now that he was towering over Solo. “The cavalry has arrived.”

“The good little fairy won’t like it.”

“I’ve got to get out of here,” Rey said. “I don’t want Finn who I consider like a brother peeking at me.”

“Relax,” Solo said, grinning up at Finn, who still stood gazing up at the sky. “I hope when you get yourself a good woman, Finn, she’s as modest as mine. This little girl don’t like to show her ass in public.”

Finn just stood gazing at the sky, unable to think of an appropriate answer. “Goddamnit, look at me when I talk to you,” Solo shouted. Slowly, Finn looked down, his eyes uncontrollably shifting to Rey.

Solo laughed and slapped Rey across the buttocks. Finn saw the red finger marks on the white flesh and quickly looked skyward again.

“For goodness sakes,” Rey cried. “Will you stop torturing him.”

“Okay, okay,” Solo said, waving Finn away with the toss of his head, and laughed as the huge man hurried away in his lumbering gait.

As soon as Finn disappeared into the house Rey sat up and reached for the white halter. Solo watched her as she tied it on, then as she tried to stand up, he reached over and pinched her high inside the thigh. She screamed and jumped back, her red lips pulled back over her white teeth.

“Come here,” he said.

“No!”

“Come here.”

“No. Haven’t you had enough after that judo session you put me through?”

“Come here!”

“What’s the matter, can’t walk?” Quickly she reached down and picked up the other piece of white cloth and ran for the house, holding the cloth in front of her with B.B. at her heels, and all the time hearing Solo’s loud laugh behind her.

After she had disappeared inside the house, Solo stood up and leisurely walked into the house, stopping to bow and all swelled up like a poisoned pup before Mrs. D’Acy, the housekeeper, who was arranging flowers in the living room. He looked at her, having took pleasure in her embarrassment.

“Knock off there, Mrs. D’Acy,” he said, brutally cheerful. “You’re going to have champagne,” to which the cleaning woman jumped up in delight. “Why not! Champagne for everybody! This place smells like pine and jasmine-scented hills and money. Keep at it. Cleaning up. Vacuuming. Keep this place perfumed.” And then proudly walked out before the woman could answer.

He showered and shaved. Then, dressed in slacks, Hawaiian sport shirt and sandals, he went back out to the patio and sat at the glass-topped table to wait for Finn.

He felt tired, without interest or purpose. So far, everything was made to order. Old man routine getting you down again, Solo? After all these years of hard work, it just wasn’t fair. It confused him. And Ben Solo hadn’t felt confused in a long time.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, feebly struggling for expression, was a feeling of failure, and he tried to fight it, drive the thought back where it came from, but he couldn’t gather enough energy to force it back. He was lousy. And it was all his fault. He was a failure. And with the thought came that familiar hollowness in the pit of his stomach, slowly spreading until the feeling seemed to press against his heart, making him weak and nauseous. He never could understand the emptiness. Sometimes he would wake up in the morning and it would be there, gnawing at his insides like a malignant growth. Then he would mope around all day, his thoughts completely introverted, feeling sad and very sorry for himself. 

This feeling became all-encompassing at times that he had to go to bed, he could be completely alone with his thoughts. And sometimes on those days, he became ill, seriously ill, and the doctor would come and give him a strong sedative and soon Solo would float off into a deep, dreamless sleep. Other times, though, he didn’t want the doctor. On those days he enjoyed playing a game with that devouring emptiness. He fed it. Fed it with what it wanted most of all: abuse. And he would call himself, deriving a great masochistic pleasure in shocking the emptiness. Sometimes, to really shock that horrible lurking beast, he would wish for death, tell himself that he had it coming to him. That he was vile and bad and wasn’t fit to live. Then the emptiness would change into a black, blinding fear that shot the emptiness all through his body like a poison, pitching him deeper into the depression.

Usually the depression didn’t last more than a day, and often not more than an hour or two. Immediately after the depression, he would become highly exhilarated as a boundless energy surged through him, making him unusually cheerful and talkative. Rey never really understood these moods but listened to the whole thing as his head dropped on her lap and she gently stroked his forehead. Solo was “in the dumps” or having his “ups.” She never questioned the strangeness of it. To her it was just Solo’s way. And who was she to question the ways of a man so good and straight as a die and clean…

Rey entered the living room carrying a hot water bottle. As she slipped it under Solo’s back, sitting with the sleeping B.B. in front of the fireplace, he pulled her down onto his lap. Rey tried to squirm away from Solo, but he grabbed her hand.

“A lot of crap came out of me these past few months. I'm sorry you got hit by it.”

“You must be in the pink, fingers, if you're looking for medicine again,” she said, coolly. 

Solo suddenly swatted her on the bottom with a rolled up newspaper, and Rey yelped in pain.

“Save yourself some bruises and bottle the smart talk. I meant just what I said.”

Solo tossed the newspaper in disgust. Rey softened. “You're not the only one who has to be hard for the world.” They stared at each other across the room. “That's why I get you.” 

“In the bed, Countess.”

“‘Come to bed, come to bed!’ What the hell’s so special about in bed.” Solo’s answer was a long prolonged chuckle. “It’s a conspiracy around here to put me to bed.”

“We are in a conspiracy against you, Mama — going to bed. In bed, Daddy can hit you anytime he likes.”

Solo, grinning in amusement at Rey, playfully gave her a little spank, starting her on her way onto the bedroom.

“Don’t be so free with your hands!”

Solo once more became deadly serious. “The next time I’ll pull down your panties and paddle your ass raw. Or I use a finger on you.”

She moved close to Solo, rubbing a hand across his chest. “Would it be painful for you?”

“It always is. I’m a maniac.”

“All this constant tension, all this silence.”

“Not when I have you squeaking like a rusty hinge.”

She smiled up at him and he could smell that perfume. His stomach tightened. He took her in his arms and kissed her hungrily. She playfully resisted and giggled at first. But she melted fast. He didn't give her a chance to take her clothes off.

He put his hands inside her blouse and covered her breasts. Then he picked her up. Her arms were wound tightly around him. He carried her to the bed.

All the servants were out after Solo told them to knock off, which they all looked at him funny, except for Finn. He walked out of the den, across the living room and down to the end of a long hallway. He stopped before the closed door to the master hay parlor. Slowly, he turned the knob and let himself into the room. The white curtains billowed out through the French doors and he had to wait a moment for his eyes to adjust to the partially darkened room. He stood by the door, eyes slowly moving across the large room. Suddenly, he caught his breath and pressed his large body against the closed door. The Missus was lying on the bed, stark naked, and a tall, dark shape was standing by the bed, stroking the inside of her leg. Finn squinted his eyes and quickly recognized his boss, Solo. The Missus just lay there, her eyes closed, whimpering softly.

“Tell me what you want. You want me to suck you?” He wanted her wet and quivering before his tongue even touched her. Because when it finally did, he wanted to be able to taste her sweet juices on every one of his eager tastebuds until she was dripping down his chin and writhing beneath him as he pleasured and teased her.

She licked her lips. “I want you to suck me, baby, bite me…”

“Tell me more,” he ducked down and drew a breast into his mouth. She tugged at his hair. The fire between her thighs now a throbbing ache. _”Tell me more!_ ”

And she bent over him, teasing — his groin against her body now — her face very near him as they did a very sexy, exaggerated, stylized bump and grind. As they did it, he kissed her on the lips.

The kiss became more and more passionate. He moved his hand down her body, under her breast, between her legs… “Taste you,” and he suddenly froze, turned away.

A beat — she couldn’t believe he stopped.

“What?”

“The baby. Somebody’s been giving you a wrong steer. Because I’m not a complete animal!”

She looked at him, surprised. “I want to reciprocate more grandiferously. Just lemme kiss it. Can I _please_ have a little kiss, Daddy?”

He slid the rest of the way up her body until he was planting a knee on each side of her head. He stroked himself just inches from her face. “Just a kiss?” She nodded. “No tricks now.”

He was going to make her say it. “I promise.”

Holding his breath, Finn slowly opened the door and slipped out into the hallway without making a sound. He leaned against the wall and wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

“Christ,” he whispered softly. “Jesus H. Christ!”

Solo was lying on top of Rey, clenching his teeth in pain as he thrust himself inside her again and again. As they neared their climax, Solo desperately kissed Rey about the face. 

He stifled a cry, but tears poured down his cheeks. No longer able to hold back, Solo buried his face in Rey’s hair and sobbed. “I love you, Rey. I love you so much. I’ve loved you from the first time I saw you.”

“I loved you before I ever met you. I had your picture in my room. I still have it, even in my lonely stinking hotel room…”

It was the best he’d felt in days. 

She laid against his chest in the sultry languor that stole over her. “Ben? Don’t you listen to that friend. You just stick it out and you’ll win. Don’t mortgage your self-respect to get a nightclub out of hock. Stay legit, hon.”

“Don’t worry, Rey. I changed my mind. Called it off. We got a line on the good stuff. A boxcar of bottled-in-bond Scotch whisky sittin’ on a spur in Patagonia. Everything on the up and up. No racket. You’re right. There’s a little watchman in here who never sleeps. Your conscience. Right, baby?”

“Yah.”


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joe Pesci remakes Reylo. Titles it, ”The Two Utes.”

His honey doll liked everyone. She was a very deep woman. How pretty and fresh she seemed, like a friendly puppy. You’d be proud of her anywhere. And she had more friends than anyone alive. But best of all, she liked Ben, her tempestuous husband. Rey couldn’t sit still on Sunday afternoons — she had to go see what everybody was doing. Especially Ben. 

Later that day he waited at the Plaza for Rey. Like all cantinas concerned with evening business, the afternoon atmosphere was cool, pleasant and restful. It was darkened, except for back-bar lights and sunlight filtering from around the closed Venetian blinds. An atmosphere of uncontrived hominess, unpretentious, clearly attractive to the small income vacationer seeking a home away from home. 

A hand slapped the strings of a bass fiddle — slapping time to gut-bucket jazz. The drummer, eyes closed, lips moving, was beating it out on his traps. On the keyboard of a piano were two pairs of hands playing a duet. Solo was happily sitting beside the piano man, both enjoying the music they were making. Solo was a little amateurish with his treble end, missing a trick now and then but catching up with a grin. A drink stood above him on the piano top. Booths and the dance floor were crowded with young people and a few who were not so young. The Combo was kicking it around — Solo in the midst of it, satisfying himself by being a part of the noise called jazz. Solo looked up from the keyboard and saw Rey.

The clerk was working at an adding machine, “Receipts are lookin’ good, _Jefe_.” At one end of the bar were a couple of pinball machines — near the door. When she walked in, every head turned. She was all class. So was her clinging green suit, hands dripping jewels. There was strength and pride in her clear eyes. Solo smiled smugly.

“Do I rate a whistle?” She childishly turned for his inspection as if he was her couturier. They took a table and he felt his heart pound. He could smell that same perfume. It made him want her again. She was smooth shiny, hardboiled and loaded with sin. He wanted her so badly he had a desperate feeling in the pit of his stomach. Nothing, not even bank robbing, had done that to him. 

“The tastes of a sybarite.”

He was in ecstasy. “A what?” 

Solo smiled. Rey chuckled to Solo — then endeared at his lack of culture: “Sybarite. It’s Greek. It means a man who loves exquisite things. What satisfies him comes long and low and drives on four wheels, drapes nice and smooth around the shoulders. It fits easy, comes from expensive shops, looks uptown. Luxury, Papa. Luxury. Not to use, but to look at, to feel.” 

Solo grinned. “What was that word?”

“Sybarite.”

“Yeah, sounds okay. Soft and easy, huh?”

“Smooth and shiny. He worships symmetry, roundness and sleekness. And hates coarseness.” She was excited now.

“Skip it.”

“You’re an aesthetic.”

“I know what that is. More Greek.”

“It means a man who likes everything perfect.”

“Yeah, I want to smash something I smash it.”

Rey had been shopping on Florida Street. It wasn’t long before a man stopped her. He used the old gag. Street directions. Then he jumped the subject. “I’ve seen you someplace before, haven’t I?” he asked. 

“Maybe,” Rey said. “I’ve been lots of places.”

Overawed by the trappings, Rey wandered silently, feeling the fabric of the sofa, watching the caged parakeet. In contrast, Solo looked around the estate appraisingly, like a smart thief. “How’d you get in so good with the Vice Consul?” 

“I went to the library and read a book,” she said.

It was just about par for the swanky neighborhood. There was the usual huge hacienda with too many rooms and lots of big fat brass doorknobs. And there also was the usual tiled swimming pool and flagstone patio with all the tropical plants and palm trees planted full grown to give the _nouveau riche_ , impatient owner a sense of belonging and permanency. And as always there was a fantastic panoramic view of the sprawling city below, a city lying at their feet.

The Solos were also one of the most recent residents in Buenos Aires. It had taken him years of fighting and stealing and slugging to worm his way up to that mountain stronghold. Months previous, in celebration of the grand opening, he had led a Kalevalan motorcade of ex-hoods and bookies up the steep, narrow, twisting Buenos Aires road and properly christened the joint with a party that had lasted three days.

The newspapers had carried the story. Radio and television commentators described the great house in minute detail. One enterprising sob sister took her viewers on a guided tour, trotting and gushing at Rey’s side as she freely and expansively expounded on the origin and price of everything. They had wandered through the living room. Awed by the restrained good taste of the furnishings. Noël Coward might live there.

Solo was proud of their little home. Proud that he, the son of a street brawler and underdog, had risen from the ghettos of Corell Avenue, east of Corellia River, to the dizzy heights of aristocratic, ever-expanding cosmopolitan Buenos Aires, the queen of the Rio de la Plata and the capital of Argentina. He had made a long, hazardous journey across two nations from north to south, from poverty to riches, from smog to clean mountain air, from crime to power and more and bigger legitimacy.

It was more than just a house to Ben Solo. It was a showplace, a shrine erected to his enterprising genius. It was proof Ben Solo had made the big time and in a big way. Who could deny or even argue against this show of evidence. Who could doubt that Ben Solo was big and important and smart. Here stood a majestic structure of steel and tile and brick and glass, low and long with sweeping lines and curves; and all of it circled by a six-foot-high white brick fence that enclosed and protected by an electric-eye system a whole acre of the highest-priced real estate this side of Buenos Aires.

Rey had spent four hundred and twelve dollars — seventeen thousand, three hundred pesos — and two hours preparing bait. They all had dinner together, Solo and Rey and a bunch of other people. The guest list included every millionaire in Buenos Aires with a conscience. And that was the best kind of millionaire. Suckers. Nice work if you could get it. He’d never seen so many square johns with loose dough in his life. Throwing it away with both hands. A take like you wouldn’t believe. And no beefs. Solo had a couple of drinks. They ate _duck à l’orange_ , broccoli hollandaise, Caesar salad and cherries jubilee. They didn’t talk much until after the coffee. Then she piped up: “Geez, you shouldn’t let me eat like that. I’m a butterball already.”

“You look alright. You’re regular.” He meant it. Her slight plumpness was becoming. Baby fat. The kid didn’t need any makeup except lipstick. And only because he loved to smear it. She had a complexion like cream and her green eyes were clear and sparkling.

They had been there only a few minutes when the mambo band came on the stand and warming up. Pretty soon they were playing a set. Her mood changed like someone had thrown a switch. Rey had been listening with her lips parted. She looked plenty cute. As if she was just waiting to be hugged and kissed. And so he gathered her in his arms and kissed her. A nice clean kiss. A tender kiss. But then he began getting his feet on the ground. What the hell was he doing with this starry-eyed kid? If she was a hero-worshipper, she sure had picked herself a beat-up hero. 

The kid looked excited, her face flushed, her eyes sparkling.

“Ben, will you dance with me?”

“But there’s nobody on the floor.”

“That’s wonderful. We’ll have plenty of room.”

Solo was never much of a dancer. It made him nervous. Whatever he did, he wanted to do well. If he couldn’t do it well, he’d leave it alone, he always figured. But he discovered at once that he would have no trouble because she followed like a dream. It was the first time he had his arms around a girl who asked him to dance. Her body was young and firm and soft in the right places. He drew her in a little closer and it felt fine.

Funny he had never caught Rey singing before now. A few of the other guests glanced over, eavesdropping.

Solo pricked up his ears. “I didn’t know you could sing, my treasure.”

A few more guests looked over...

Rey purred like a stroked cat. “Oh, I can deliver a little.”

“Señora Ren, tear us off a little number?” asked the Vice Counsel. “That should wake the party up. I don’t want everyone to die before midnight.”

“Let’s hear it,” Solo urged. “Maybe we can gimmick it. Sing something they’d understand even in Argentina.”

“Always rushing things!”

“Clear the decks everybody! Señora Ren’s going to sing us a song!” the Vice Counsel announced.

“Give me plenty of room, fellas! I take deep breaths!” 

A general laugh went up from the guests, catcalls and Argentine cheers.

“Knock it down, kids — knock it down.”

Now all the guests listened in rapt attention as Rey stepped up to a mike. The band gave her a four-bar introduction and she finger-snapped the verse, broke into a knockout chorus:

_Why do I feel like a feather?  
Why do I sing in a crowd?_

She went into a second chorus but before that she saw the Vice Consul and his fiancée go over and whisper to Solo.

_It’s that undeniable something_  
_Makes the moonlight fit like a glove_  
_That undefinable something called “Love”_

Solo eyes were closed as he listened to the song. When it was over, he turned to Rey excitedly. “You could’ve been a singing sensation! You can sure sling those obbligatos around! Who coached you like that — have you been studying?”

“Nobody coached me,” she said. “The only thing is, where’s the gimmick?”

“Don’t you get it? The gimmick is right in your voice. You’re not Lily Pons, maybe, but you don’t need to be.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Listen. You can’t miss it.”

She heard all the flaws more than anything else. “What can’t miss?”

“The gimmick! Your voice seems as if it’s reaching right out of the ether and caressing you. It’s a boudoir voice. It’s like listening to the grandmother of all whores lying in bed with you, whispering in your ear...”

Rey broke out laughing, not at all burned by her husband’s afflicted sense of humor. “My goodness, Ben! Do you have to put it that way?”

“Nothing personal, Countess. After all, I had you first, and I’ll have you last… you’re no trollop. I’m just trying to make you understand it.”

“Oh, but I _am_ a trollop. And spend my days lusting after a tall, dark, handsome man who... struts and flexes his shapely buttocks… Indeed!”

“Oh, I don't believe my ears!”

“Oh, maybe you should wear your hair down — nobody’ll see ‘em.”

He listened to her again and Rey could hear what he meant. She had that deep, husky, sexy voice in his ear when their naked bodies had been clinging together. It was forthrightly aphrodisiac, sinful — delightfully inciting. 

Ben was talking again. “It will do to men the same thing it does to you and me... but I don’t want you singing for other guys.”

The night was so warm. It was one of the few nights that Spring that it did not rain in Buenos Aires. Rey snuggled alongside.

The mansion looked out on a small lake. It was dark by this time.

Before leaving, they took a turn around the terrace, walked across the grass lawn to the lake. They didn’t talk much. They stopped to listen to the night sounds, the Spring sounds; the croaking frogs, the insects. The Spring was full of warmth, Spring perfumes, delightful after the long, miserable Winter. They stood there holding hands like a couple of school kids. It was then he realized weeks had gone by without them being alone as they were now. Then he felt that feeling for her, as he had the first night he’d met her. A sensation began to crawl up his back and his heart started to pound. He took her in his arms and kissed her passionately. 

“You know, you’re working on me. You’re a most amazing woman.”

“Why? Because I’ve kept my mouth shut for the last half hour?”

It was pretty late then. She started to look sleepy. 

“Juvenile, I’m going to hunt up the boiler and take you home.”

“I don’t want to go home, pal. Really, I’m not a child, you know.”

“You’re going home and don’t call me pal.”

“I’m not going home and I’m going to call you pal. So there.”

“But...”

“Don’t say anymore, pal. Just kiss me.”

He kissed her. She just stretched and yawned.

“Come on, cookie. Let’s beat feet the hell out of here.”

“Darling... I bought the loveliest transparent black négligée today. I’ll let you see it on me tonight. It’s a gasser!”

They got back in the car and drove back to the apartment. Just thinking about being with her again after all that time made him turn to water. His heart was beating as if he had taken a double shot of adrenaline. 

They screeched up to the apartment building on the Recoleta. He threw the doorman the keys so that he could take the Kalevy to the garage and they walked into the lobby.

Moonbeams streaked in the room. He sat on the bed and leaned back. She sat down right alongside.

“Back rub?”

“The old man needs a little warming up?”

“For you, smart-aleck.”

She put an arm around him. “I got better than that, Daddy. How about a charge?” He didn’t answer. She placed her body very carefully against his and kissed him. Her tongue was warm and moist. He wanted to live inside her, damnit. He let his arms clutch her. It was like holding a high-tension wire. He crushed her against him, savoring the ample curves of her voluptuous body. Then she broke away and turned. She stood in the shafts of the silver light coming in through the window. 

“Take off my clothes, Daddy.”

“Rey…” he said severely. “I’m going to give you the beating of your life!”

She smiled, gently. “Come on, man, rip them off like they were rags. There’s plenty where they came from.”

He pushed her onto the bed and started taking her clothes off. She helped him by twisting and turning her body from side to side. He reached for her with all the hunger and passion he had and kissing her stomach. She reached down and grabbed two fistfuls of his hair, pulling him to her, responding as though she had been hoarding it too. There were two wildcats in the room that night. 

In the vanity mirror… she watched their shadowy reflections. Their bodies atangle under the sheets.

Their reflection in the mirror intrigued her. Intoxicated her. His aggression excited her. She pulled him into her. The headboard banging into the wall repeatedly as they made love. 

Her hands were up against the headboard. She trembled... Wavered… Then in one swift move Ben swept Rey onto all fours. He tucked a pillow beneath her for her comfort... he was sweating… bit at her neck… lips moving… talking dirty to Rey. “That’s the stuff! Ya love it don’t you! You love it this way — loud and hard,” he scruffed her, pushing down until her face was buried in the bed. He held her there as his thighs slapped into her buttocks over and over. The bedroom filled with their heavy breathing. Squeaky bed noises.

“Yes, yes, hit me… bite me, please,” she cried with the intensity from being driven from one climax to another. She loved being controlled by him. Possessed by him. Loved the way her breasts rocked on her chest and the ache in her hips. The truth was, as far out and crazy as he got, Rey wanted more. Fighting, lusting, loving. She wanted to go all the way. Women, like the other wives, for instance, said they didn’t want to be taken like, really taken — that was a lot of fast double-talk — every girl enjoyed a little rough trade from time to time. Maybe their husbands were doing it wrong or something. It’s just that the two of them were meant for each other. The thrilling way they met. How they were thrown together and — ker-plunk! — they were in love. It was like a bolt of lightning striking. One blinding flash and two souls were fused into one. Nature alone did not fashion such miracles. It sprung from the judgement and determination of a higher power. Beyond the realm of human understanding. Beyond their right to accept or reject. This was the Love Sublime — Holy. Sometimes he started crying like a baby… wanted Rey to hold him. It was a strange feeling to do all that wild stuff with someone, but still want you to hold him, comfort him... But that certainly wasn’t a new occurrence in their crazy relationship. As long as there was a little tenderness involved. What was she gonna do, knock it?

“You been real bad, Rey. There ain’t no forgivin’ ya, girl!”

“Oh no! Oh please forgive me, Papa!”

“Listen, was it your own idea to wreck my life completely, or did an enemy of mine hire you for the job!”

“No! No! Please!”

He hit her again. Harder. “That’s the only thing you ever understood.”

“I knew you were passionate. I liked that.”

“Passionate! I’m a creep.”

“My diamond in the rough. And I took that diamond and had a ring made.”

Then he stopped, abruptly. She encouraged him to continue, copulating with him behind, “Come on, baby, keep going.”

“Relax, baby,” he dismounted and shifted them again, with Rey on top, glad to be able to see her face, breasts and belly. “Wow,” said Rey a couple of times. “Funsville, huh?” 

He snarled under his breath. The vibration of the sound rattled inside of her heart as he dug himself further into her — as deep as he possibly could. 

“Lean back,” he demanded, and she did, changing the angle. Their eyes met as he opened her with his thumbs, a soft cry bled from her lush lips, unsure if she could survive another explosion, but knew that she had no choice. And just as she was about to pass out, he slowed his movement. His head hung back and he emitted a long, drawn-out, guttural, primal note. 

When it was over they lay back, panting. He felt as if someone had run a blowtorch over his body. He lit up a cigarette on his way to the balcony and in the gold pocket lighter flame he saw her face. It scared him. It was so cruel. Like the face of an animal after a kill. There was worn lipstick around her mouth that looked like blood. She laughed softly. A sort of insane soft laugh. 

Rey did him a favor, though. After that wild session, he didn’t think about or want sex at all for two or three weeks. Instead he decided to get himself in shape physically. A sick businessman can’t work and don’t let anyone tell you differently. He went down to the gymnasium every day and worked on the weights and finished with a dip in the pool to get the kinks out. He tried to see how long he could swim underwater. He didn’t go very far at first but later he could stay down a whole lap. His lungs were getting strong and he even cut down on his smoking and went on the wagon.

After three grinding weeks, he began to notice a terrific new drive when he worked. He could tell that from the way he slept at night. His head hadn’t been like a mudhole. Now it seemed like a bucket of fresh spring water.

The surge or charge or whatever you want to call it was felt by Rey too. Rey found newly harmonic, newly sensitive notes. Solo was getting a wonderful feeling from the vibes. Rey throbbed with the depth and impact of a Conga drum. She had them all spotted. It was as if they were all high on dope. But it wasn’t dope. It was the feeling. They had found it. They had melted together into one wonderful symphony.

The chandelier rotated slowly... a pair of shorts and a stocking hung from the arms. The house was a wreck! Ben and Rey were both reclined in a big claw-foot bathtub, facing each other, their arms lazily over the sides. Ben’s eyes were closed.

He lifted his feet out of the water, dangled them over the side of the tub. He teased one of her breasts. Rey stuck her feet out of the water. She was wearing a gold anklet. They were dripping. The thoughts tugged at him. 

“Penny for your thoughts.”

“I was just thinking that you’re a hell of a cute kid.”

“Thanks, pal.” She giggled and threw him a kiss. He was really feeling married. “You’re makin’ sounds just like a husband.”

“I guess I’m gettin’ kind of used to you.”

“That’s a habit I hope you never break.”

She was naked and shivering so he wrapped her in a white terry robe, her deeply tanned face without makeup except for plenty of coral lipstick, then went and collected more logs and built up the fire. He hunted around for their clothes and came back. She was all bundled up in the robe and looked as small and sweet as a child. “Ben, you must be cold. Get under the blanket with me.”

He didn’t need a second invitation. Their wet naked bodies pressed close together. He felt his desire rising. But it was healthy. Not at all like that frantic hunger being a fifteen-year-old lad apprehended in the act of staging a holdup raised in him — fifteen years old and a thrill addict. A most tragic case.

Ben’s hand wandered. He wasn’t flashy. It was just direct, and it was strength, and his eyes were — it was like they looked through her. It dipped into an open jar of coconut oil... then moved over to Rey’s exquisite body, buffing the surface of her skin to a high gloss. Her eyes. They were crossed in ecstasy.

“I love you to make love to me and kiss my breast and buff my fanny with coconut oil and everything...” He suckled first one nipple and then the other, tugging at her with his lips, teasing her with velvet strokes of his tongue, tormenting her with nips of his teeth. It was sweet, so sweet, and terrible, too.

She looked down. “Come on, Benny-poo. Doesn’t Mr. Pokey want to go exploring?”

“He’s busy right now. Look, I told you... Mr. Pokey is trying to be a good boy. So why don't you give him a BREAK!”

“Because... he belongs to me! I love you, Ben, and I want to make you happy. Do I please you?”

“You’ll keep me young in my old age; that is, if you don’t kill me first.”

“Sweet. I love you.” He was enjoying the attractive jiggle of her buttocks meant only for him as she laughed. “Oh, sweet.”

Their bodies under the blanket were warm and dry now. The moon started to hide behind a cloud. The fire had burned up to glowing embers. Her soft abdomen was pressed against his. It was the best of all, that night.

Afterward, they took B.B. for a walk. They were just returning when Mrs. D’Acy arrived. They met on the staircase.

“Go anywhere in particular?” she asked.

“No, just for a walk,” Solo said. “Thought we’d get a little fresh air.”

“I’d like to draw one and then go upstairs and lie down,” Rey said, suddenly beginning to shiver, feeling the pain starting in the back of her right eye. That was where the migraine always started, spreading quickly to the whole side of her head. Solo reached over and held her against him.

“Migraine?” he whispered.

“Nothing that a hot cup of coffee won’t cure.”

Mrs. D’Acy went to the bathroom for Rey’s pills and ice-bag while Solo leaned over Rey.

“Where’s the pain?”

Rey pointed. Solo’s fingers went to the source of the pain. He rubbed — harder, harder — always making certain they were unheard. “Come on, baby, don’t let it beat ya!” as he did so, “You’re top man, ain’t ya? Nothing gets Rey Solo on her knees.”

Under the ministrations of the rubbing and Solo’s words, the headache had started to go as swiftly as it came. Rey’s breathing became more regular, though still heavy. She slowly regained self control. As Solo finished talking, Rey, in a strange flashback of her mind, resenting any man’s interference, pushed him roughly away. But even as she did so a transference was effected in her mind and she stared at Solo, wide-eyed. She shook her head as if to shake off the last remnants of the headache, allowed Solo to help her to her feet. Their eyes held for a moment. Then slowly Rey bravely held her head up. Solo bent down to meet her lips. The kiss a declaration of camaraderie. Rey grinned.

She put the water on to boil for the coffee. Solo sat on the sofa, watching her. 

“Rest the feet awhile, Countess,” Solo said, querulously.

“Won’t be a minute,” Rey said, looking up and smiling, explaining her move. “I hope you don’t mind instant mud.”

“That’ll be fine,” Solo said, getting up and walking up to her. “Look,” he said. “I hope you don’t take this wrong, but I brought a gun for you. Just in case. You know what I mean?”

“I’m not sure I do,” Rey said. 

“I’m gonna be in charge of the detail sworn to protect you. We’re gonna do the best we can, but you can never tell. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to scare you. In fact, that’s the last thing I want to do. All I want is for you to be careful, and also, prepared. I’ve got a shotgun in the car. Okay?”

“I don’t need it. I’ve got a rifle.”

“What kind?”

“A thirty-thirty Winchester.”

“No good for this kind of thing. Take my word for it. The shotgun will be a lot better. I’ll go down and get it for you.”

“No. Wait. I don’t want Mrs. D’Acy to know about it. It will just worry her.”

“She can’t nose a rod?”

“No, she’s a pacifist.”

“Okay, come down and I’ll get it after she goes to bed.”

“It might be quite a wait for you.”

“Skip it. I plan to spend a little time around here tonight anyway.”

“There’s no need for that. The doctor gave me another week, at least.”

“Don’t worry about it. I got the joint all broken in. I can get away any time. I don’t have anything else to do. You come down after she goes to bed. Okay?”

“Alright. I appreciate your concern, but I really don’t think it’s necessary.”

“Look, you let us husbands worry about whether it’s necessary or not. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Well,” Rey grinned. “If that’s the case, I submit without another word. I certainly wouldn’t want to encroach on your territory.”

“What’s that?” Mrs. D’Acy asked, coming out of the bathroom, smiling. “Feeling better, I see, Mrs. Ren.”

“Much.”

“Good,” Solo said, pouring the boiling water into the cups.

“Would you like something to eat?” Mrs. D’Acy asked, smiling at the two loved up kids.

“Not for me,” Rey said. “Coffee is just fine.”

“Not for me,” Solo said. “But how about junior?”

“Never mind junior,” she said. “She’s big enough now.”

“Going to be a girl, huh?” Mrs. D’Acy said.

“Of course,” Solo said. “That’s what I put my money on.”

“Oh,” Mrs. D’Acy said. “That’s fine.”

“Sucker,” Rey laughed. “It’s going to be twin boys.”

“There,” Solo said, as they all sat down at the dining table. “That settles it.”

“I enjoyed the walk,” Rey said, smiling at Mrs. D’Acy. “It was very nice of you to take care of us. We appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it,” Mrs. D’Acy said. “My pleasure. Are you here for any particular reason, Mr. Ren?” she asked, casually spooning sugar into her coffee.

Solo looked quickly at Rey before answering. “Well,” he said, “in a way I am. You know the baby should be born anytime now. It’s our job to give Mrs. Ren all the protection she needs.”

“Thank you,” Rey said. “It’s very kind of you.” She stood up, forcing her facial muscles into a smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go to bed. Good night, Mrs. D’Acy.” She held her hand out to her and she stood up and shook it gently, yet firmly. 

“Alright, Countess,” Solo said, standing up. “I’ll be in pretty soon.”

She came forward and kissed Solo on the lips, softly, gently, her warm lips lingering for just a second.

It was eleven o’clock when Rey Solo slipped into bed.

Solo was as nervous as a cat, and he kept staring at Rey like she was about to drop the loot bag at any moment if the alarm tripped. Rey had asked everybody to treat the news very calmly. So they initially acted like this was behind the parade and babies were born every day. But soon, they couldn’t keep their excitement under control, either.

He didn’t know when it happened, but Solo began carrying himself with self-assurance of a successful gentleman who was proud of his wife, proud of his employees, and proud of his business accomplishments. 

He had enough gall to be divided into three parts, and the ability and poise to backstop the front he placed before the world. He’d walk into every nightclub in town and announce to every man and woman working in every nightclub sewed up that he could speed up production by one-forth. He’d do it, too. Even as a boy, Solo had a brilliant head for numbers and was able to do complex calculations in his head without committing anything to paper. He could’ve taken up a straight career in finance.

One reason he had so many restaurants, nightclubs, and hotels — there were nine of them now — was that he was convinced anything he and Rey teamed up on was sure to be a success.

As someone who cut his teeth on bank robbing, then remade himself into a high-stakes gambler, he never set out to inspire anyone. But he always practiced what he preached, and it was just about impossible to tell where his knack for organization running ended and his home life began. His office was always full of the cream of the cream, and he often took Rey, and sometimes all of these young, smart heavies on business trips. Frequently, they’d tag along at his side, pencils and notebooks in their hands, when Solo toured a property which he was looking to develop.

“So that’s the cocktail bar.” Solo and a slight man, conservatively but expensively dressed, halted just inside the main doors as they closed behind them. “What’s in there?” 

They worked their way up the stairs. “That’s the cabinet,” the man answered.

“From now on it’s a private dining room. Make a note of that, Kiki.”

As Solo’s questions proceeded, Rey took a notepad from her purse and scratched notes. “Right.”

“Take B.B. out for a walk, Teebo. It’s too stuffy in here...” He pointed at the wall sconces. “ _These_ are crummy. Change it.”

“But, Señor, they’re Castilian. I had them specially designed.”

“They’re still crummy. None of the classy spots use that kind of stuff anymore. I want the kind that sticks up in the ceiling.”

“Indirect lighting,” Rey noted.

“That’s what I want.”

_”Si, Señor.”_

“Enough of that. Just call me Ren. You’ve been around long enough to know I how I operate. If you don’t, read the papers and find out.”

On the other hand, his penthouse was a sort of school for business management and the elimination of wasted time and motions — or “cooking with gas,” as was the word from the Boss.

Solo filmed the boys washing dishes, so that he could figure out how they could reduce their motions and thus hurry through the task. Irregular jobs, such as picking up an apology gift or making a midnight run to the bakery across town that had the lemon chiffon layer cake that Rey loved, were awarded on the fly. They were allowed to run like mice wherever they wanted to run and do his bidding. Each man who wanted extra pocket money made his bones that way. It was a match made in heaven. Solo laid out the cash and whoever wanted the contract got it. In the meantime, these young Turks learned to transform themselves from small-time ex-cons into respectable associates. For these young hoods, it was the chance of a lifetime. Whatever you said about the lot of them, they realized Solo was something special, far above them. If you wanted to make money, and have a connection to stay out of trouble with the law or square the rap, Solo was the guy. What he did was throw out the old idea of swearing allegiance to the bottom line and, instead, stood with those who lined the bottom, and melded it with the American business method. It was a globalwide combine run strictly as a business enterprise. The business would be reformation. They would do everything in an organized, regulated way. 

He built his team in his own image. He taught them good taste, how to use cutlery, how to help a lady sit down for dinner by holding out her chair. Ben Solo was not only mentor in the restaurant profession, but also the garment profession at turning a cheap, lowdown hood into a café society fashion plate. He also gave them a sense of self-betterment, a better vocabulary, which was a very important touchstone. “Act like businessmen, not just as muscle.” He helped them in other ways, too, acting as a bank and offered them credit to start their own legitimate businesses, earning himself another nickname, “The Big Bankroll.” Uptown, he was the number one man, “The Fixer,” who put everything together. If you wanted to make a deal work, you saw him.

It was regimentation, alright. But bear in mind the trouble most bosses have with one employee looking to crawl up his back with a frame and stab him, twenty-four hours a day, and multiply that by five thousand. And on top of that, millions of customers. Some regimentation was necessary to prevent bedlam. Of course there were times when somebody got cute. However, Solo had a gimlet eye and a terrible swift sword. He had to let them know he was watching all the details, all the time, that there is not one single thing he would not catch. The combined effect was that the truth usually went marching on.

Yes, at home or on the job, Solo was the planning expert. He buttoned his shirt from the bottom up, instead of from the top down, because the bottom-to-top process took him only three seconds, while top-to-bottom took seven. He even used two shaving brushes to lather his face, because he found that by doing so he could cut seventeen seconds off his shaving time. For a while he tried shaving with two razors, but he finally gave that up.

Some used to say Solo had so many people working for him that he couldn’t keep track of them. Solo used to tell a story one time about when Rey went off to fill a lecture engagement and buy wines for the El Rey Club in Paris and left him in charge at home. When Rey returned, she asked him if everything had run smoothly.

“Baby!” he smiled happily as she entered, and looked relieved.

“Hello, honey.” She crossed to him.

“How was Paris?”

She kissed him on the cheek. “Couldn’t have been better.”

“I’m glad, dear.”

Rey could handle any crisis without losing her composure. “Have any trouble with them this time?” she indicated the retinue.

“No more than usual.”

She chucked B.B. under the chin. “How about this one?”

“Oh, he’s been good as gold!”

She murmured, “Flitchee, Nanta, Stemzee, Chubbs—” and stopped in front of a little fellow, “You — what’s your name?”

“Aw, you haven’t forgotten me, _Jefa!_ I’m Wicket.”

“Wicket?” She playfully pushed up his nose. 

“Widdle’s brother.”

“I thought that was Wunka?”

“No, you’re thinking of Tokkat,” Solo said.

“Well, then, who’s that over there?”

“That’s not one of ours, dear,” Solo said. “I think he just got swept up from the street on a tide.”

None of them remembered it, and maybe it never happened. Solo wasn’t above stretching the truth, because there was nothing he liked better than a joke, particularly if it were on him and even more particularly if it were on Rey. 

Although he was a strict taskmaster within his home, Solo tolerated no criticism of the retinue from outsiders. One neighbor complained that Paploo had called him a son of an unprintable word.

“Why don’t you write to your representative?” Solo asked blandly. And then walked away while the neighbor registered a double-take.

But Solo had no problem with unprintable words; in fact, he had mastered it into an artform. But just because he stood up for one of his men didn’t prevent him from holding a full-dress court of inquiry — it was a bad week for any man in the hot seat — once he got home, and administering the called-for punishment.

Solo wasn’t much in social sets, but in a crowd of kids… Wherever he was, there would be a string of them trailing him — and Rey was pretty sure by the jagged shafts of heat that seemed to shoot straight from her breast to her belly, turning to liquid between her thighs, that he’d make a wonderful father.

He had a way with children and knew how to keep them on their toes. He had a respect for them, too, and didn’t mind showing it.

He believed that most adults stopped thinking the day they entered school — and some even after that. It was all propaganda anyway. It didn’t matter. “A child, on the other hand, stays impressionable and eager to learn. Catch one young enough,” Solo insisted, “and there’s no limit to what you can teach.”

Really, it was Rey’s love of children more than anything else that made him want a pack of his own. Even with a half dozen, he wouldn’t be fully satisfied. Sometimes he’d look over Rey and say to her: “Maybe we’ll give all this up. We’ll start a baseball team or a band and tour Europe.”

Rey used to suspect, though, that one reason he had wanted a large family was to assure himself of an appreciative audience, even within the confines of the home. With children around, he could always be sure of a full house, packed to the galleries.

Whenever Solo returned from a trip — even if he had been gone only a day — he whistled the “assembly call” as he entered the hall. The call was a tune he had composed. He whistled it, loud and shrill, by doubling his tongue behind his front teeth. 

The call was important. It meant drop everything and come running — or risk dire consequences. Abruptly — as if by magic — the household sounds would stop, only to be succeeded by the noise of running feet and excited voices. Bodyguards, personal cooks, hair dressers, advisors, assistants and others of all sizes, shapes, and perversions, would converge upon the living room. Some rushed down the stairs; some slid down the bannisters; others were pouring in from the kitchen; a couple from the patio. In all, it was a curious mix of characters, united in their admiration for Solo. As they rushed in and surrounded him, all were eagerly crying: _“Jefe! Jefe!”_

“Hello, kids! Thirteen seconds! Not bad, not bad. But I still say we should make it in less.”

Solo gave the whistle often. He gave it when he had an important business announcement that he wanted to be sure everyone would hear. He gave it when he was bored and wanted excitement with his retinue. He gave it when he had invited a business acquaintance home and wanted to introduce them to the whole bunch and to show them how quickly the bunch could assemble. On such occasions, Solo would click a stopwatch, which he carried in his pocket. 

Like most of Solo’s ideas, the assembly call, while more than a nuisance, made sense. This was demonstrated in particular one day when a heist-styled rehearsal was staged of what to do when Rey needed to go to the hospital. Solo said he would take care of Rey, helping her with her coat; Mrs. D’Acy was in charge of calling Doctor Plo Koon; Finn had to carry the valise down to the car. Solo whistled, and the house was evacuated in fourteen seconds — eight seconds off the all-time record. The occasion was also memorable because of the remarks of the clerk who watched the bit from the front desk. During the height of the excitement, the hotel manager came to the front desk and called to the clerk: “What’s going on?”

“Señora Ren had a false alarm,” he said, “they’re really comin’ on!”

“Shall we call the police?” the manager shouted.

“No, the press!” the clerk shouted incredulously.

Anyway, they practiced the routine many times with great results and there was no need to ask the police department for help or call the press to drum up copy.

Solo whistled assembly when he wanted to find out who had been using his razors or who had spilled ink on his desk. He whistled it when he had special jobs to assign or errands to be run. Mostly, though, he sounded the assembly call when he was about to distribute some wonderful surprises, with the biggest and best going to the one who reached him first.

So when they heard him whistle, they never knew whether to expect good news or bad, rags or riches. But they did know for sure they’d better get there in a hurry.

Sometimes, as they all came running to the front door, he’d start by being stern. “Fall in! Fall in!”

The retinue immediately lined up according to seniority and height. Rey and B.B. alone did not enter the line. There were now about eleven guys, five classy dames and six able gents. Solo stood for a minute looking them over. Then he moved over and started up the line from the small end. 

“Let me see your nails, all of you,” he’d grunt, with his face screwed up in a terrible frown. Out popped eleven pairs of hands. Solo inspected them as he moved down the line. “Can they stand a little soap? Have you been biting them? Do they need trimming?”

Then out would come leather manicure sets for the women and jackknives for the men. How they loved him then, when his frown reversed and became a wide grin.

Or he’d shake hands solemnly all around, and when they took their hand away there’d be a double sawbuck in it. Or he’d ask who had a pen, and then hand out a dozen fountain ones. 

“Let’s see, what’s this?” he asked once. Out came a necklace for Rey — even a matching collar for B.B.

“Oh, Daddy, they’re just right,” she’d say.

And when she’d throw her arms around him and tell him how much they’d missed him, he would choke up and wouldn’t be able to answer. So he’d rumple B.B.’s fur and slap Rey’s bottom instead.

Ben Solo went into the bedroom and stood by the bed looking down at Rey. She lay on her left side, her knees curled up, her breathing steady and even. He leaned over and kissed her forehead very gently, then he went back into the living room.

He didn’t feel like sleeping; he had too much on his mind. He glanced across the room at the two guns laying against the closet door, the 12-gauge double-barrelled shotgun and the .30-30 Winchester rifle. Both were loaded.

He didn’t really know why he had loaded them. He knew he would never use them; even if his home was violated, he couldn’t imagine himself using them. Even scum knew you weren’t supposed to plug a guy at home. Where the people he cared about found refuge from this screwed up world. Deep down Solo knew he was a bastard, but when you had a kid on the way you couldn’t make enemies.

Solo was at the piano, aimlessly tinkering with some slow blue notes. Finn lied on the couch, hat over his face. Nodin came from the kitchen, carrying a cup of coffee, surveying the two other men, came on to peer through squinted eyes at the clock on the desk. It read one o’clock.

“Are we gonna stay out all night again?” A pause. He was kind of a rough character — ex-prizefighter, muscle man, fancy with guns. He could’ve been an actor if he was, you know, normal, but he was daffy. He used to put notches in his pistols. He had ten or twelve notches in his silver... silver or pearl-handled pistols. “Two Guns,” and the name stuck. “Why can’t somebody say something?”

Finn lifted the hat off his face a few inches. “What shall I talk about, darling?”

“Tell me we’re not gonna be stood up again. It doesn’t make sense. It’s enough to make a man go far off the track. Strictly section eight.”

A moment passed. Finn put his hat over his eyes. “Two people go off into a room. Two different hearts, two different minds, from two different walks of life — one of them makes a set of eyes and ears, fingers and toes — And these two parties have to dream up another human being as different from them as they are from each other — and in their endeavor they must become one mind — a single cell, divided and divided. It’s one of the miracles of life that they can pull it off — and most of the time it’s done right well. God bless women.”

A little time passed. Solo picked at the keyboard, Nodin sipped his coffee.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I was the boss-lady. I really don’t know. Do you?”

“Do you have to play that stuff? Can’t you play Moonlight Sonata or Nocturne Opus 9 No. 2?”

Solo boogied Chopsticks and Finn rose irately. “That’s my punishment for associating with the hoi polloi too long!”

The opening of a bedroom door cut into the racket Solo was making at the piano. He stopped playing suddenly. The men turned toward Mrs. D’Acy who looked back at them and incredulously shook her head.

Solo went into the kitchen for a drink of water, then went back into the living room and sat down. He reached over to the bookshelves behind the chair and pulled out Whitman’s _Leaves of Grass._

He opened it and let the pages flick slowly by his thumb, the magical phrases jumping up at him from the printed pages:

_Come, I will make the continent indissoluble…_  
_I will make divine magnetic lands,_  
_with the love of comrades…_  
_My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air…_  
_Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much?_  
_Have you reckon’d the earth much?..._  
_Out of the cradle endlessly rocking…_  
_When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d…_

He stopped a moment, his finger frozen on the page, his eyes staring at the words, unseeing, as his mind floated away into the past and he saw the green rolling hills of California and he remembered the warm Sunday afternoons he had spent lying in the tall grass, reading the wonderful poems of Witman. He remembered how they had filled him so full of love for the whole world that he could hardly contain himself. He had felt as if he were going to burst inside. He remembered one verse in particular and he thumbed through the book now, looking for it, suddenly becoming very important to him.

He found it and read it slowly, getting the same old thrill:

_I believe a leaf of grass is no less ___  
_than the journeywork of the stars,_  
_And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren, And the tree-toad is a chef-d’oeuvre_  
_for the highest,_  
_And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven,_  
_And the narrowest hinge is my hand_  
_puts to scorn all machinery,_  
_And the cow crunching with depress’d head_  
_surpasses any statue,_  
_And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels…_

____

He stopped and brushed the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. He felt in one of those moods when words, the right words, really moved him. Whitman could always do it; he held the strings to his heart. And at times like now, when everything was strange but right, he couldn’t find a better prophet to consult. He glanced down the page, stopping at the next verse:

_I think I could turn and live with animals, they’re so placid and self-contain’d,  
I stand and look at them long and long._

_They do not sweat and whine about their condition,_  
_They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,_  
_They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God,_  
_Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things,_  
_No one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago,_  
_Not one is respectable or industrious over the whole earth._

He closed the book and closed his eyes. Why did there have to be violence and cruelty in the world? That was the only thing he really hated; he could take everything else, stupidity, ignorance, laziness, all of it. But not the meanness and viciousness of the cruel ones, the violent ones, the greedy ones like the Tolsites, Snokes and Krennics, men without hearts, without feelings, without sensitivity, without souls. Men hungry for power. Men willing to inflict pain and suffering to achieve their objective.

He thought of Rey and her fears. And he remembered what he had told her about his own fears: that he was not trying to be a hero, it simply was a question of principles. Anything else would be physically, mentally and spiritually impossible. It couldn’t be reckoned on a basis of life and death. It was too deep, too ingrained, too much a way of life. Nothing could change it, not even the fear of death.

_Hey, Ben. Ben. My boy._

_Hey, Pop, I’ve been waiting for ever so long._

_Hey, Ben. Oh, Ben, hey! Ben. Wait, you’re ten years old again, Ben. How come you’re ten years old again?_

_That’s what I am, Pop. I’m ten years old. It’s Saturday night, and you said to meet you on the Midway. And I’ve been waiting, and I was afraid you weren’t going to come. Sometimes you don’t show up, Pop. Sometimes you’re sick or something._

_You remember what I used to say, Ben? You remember?_

_I remember._

_I used to say, “Hey, Ben, who’s your best buddy?”_

_“Hey, Pop, you’re my best buddy!”_

_What do you wanna do? What’ll we do?_

_How about some rides, Pop? Or some cotton candy?_

_Sure. Some rides or some cotton candy. Anything you want, anything at all._

_Come on, Dad._

_Ben. Who’s your best buddy, Ben?_

_You, Pop, you’re my best buddy. What’s the matter? What happened, Pop? Pop! What’s the matter?_

_Ben, listen to me…_

_Dad?_

_Ben! Ben! You have to understand this. You have to try and listen and understand. Those times when I wasn’t around and when I was out conning and being a thief or when I was too drunk and when I dragged you and your mother from one rooming house to another..._

_Doesn’t make any difference now, Pop._

_It makes a difference, Ben. It does make a difference because I want you to know that no man... Oh, listen to me, son. No man ever, ever loved a boy any more than I love you. It was because... Well, I dreamed instead of did, you know? And I wished and hoped instead of tried. But as God as my witness, Ben, I loved you. See, I wouldn’t be able to put it into words because there isn’t any language. But... I love you. Ben. You can let it go now. Ben! Ben! Ben! Ben? The hour is up now, Ben. I have to go. I don’t belong here. You see, son, the hour is up and you’ll be waking up soon._

_But I’m... just a kid. I’m just a little boy, Pop. You can’t go away. I want to spend the rest of my life being with you. Doing things for you and giving you things. That’s all that life means to me anymore. That’s the only thing that’s important._

_Ben, you promise me, there’ll be no more bottles here, no more con jobs, nothing. And... and no more having to wait for me. Ben. Ben! I’m going, son. I’m sorry, but I have to go back._

_Why, Pop? Why?_

_You’re a smart boy. You’ll figure it out. You always do..._

At two strokes past two o’clock, the master bedroom burst open with activity and Solo flew out of his chair. He lay on the floor, shocked and dazed, as chaos broke loose with all of the nervous excitement and nothing worked the way it was supposed to during the rehearsal. Then he was coughing, trying to breathe in the heavily scented, flower-filled room, crawling toward their bedroom, all motions arrested and fuzzy, everything weird and unreal.

There was B.B. yapping excitedly and running all over the floor and he felt something crash into him and got onto the palms of his hands and onto his knees. And with this awareness came the full realization of what had happened, as he rose to his feet, shouting, his heart pounding with panic as he raced into the bedroom.

The bed was a brilliant puddle. He went to it, feeling the sweat starting down the back of his neck, his insides were all bottled up tight, his hands got tired and he tried to slide them out and he moved back to tear off the sheets on the satin-covered bed, and he saw in the dreamlike light of the lamp the tiny, laboring, full body of Rey, and he threw himself into the action, shouting, picking up an old leather valise from one corner of the bedroom, unaware of the trail of spilled clothes in his wake. 

Mrs. D’Acy couldn’t get through to the hospital because of a busy signal. Then Finn was tugging at Solo, pulling him out of the bedroom, almost ripping Ben’s shirtsleeves off, using all his strength to hold him back and reminding that carrying the valise was supposed to be his responsibility.

Something snapped in Solo’s mind. The shock was too great to accept. He took a swipe at Finn who, naturally, countered. There was the crack of a punch, the crash of a flower vase, the tinkling of a mirror. Finn took a flying leap as Solo hurled a heavy chair straight at him. Mrs. D’Acy screamed, “Gentlemen! I don’t mean to blast your romance but Mrs. Ren is having a baby!” Finn was holding his boss’ right wrist with his left hand. With his right he swung a heavy bronze lamp in an effort to knock the Boss’ brains out. Solo drove a terrific smash to Finn’s face, which he rolled off him.

“Thanks for the tip, Mrs. D’Acy. I’ll put in a plug for you.”

Solo and Finn were sitting on the floor nearly unconscious. They were pulled to their feet by the servants. Then Solo quickly reached over and fanned the car keys in Finn’s pocket. “I’m sorry for the slugger, Boss, but you gave me the cue.”

“Hey, wait for me, fellas!” said a small voice.

Solo staggered back into the bedroom and stopped before that now smoldering, legendary bed and the tiny, calm body that was the sweet, talking, walking, loving Rey he had forgotten in his haste. And he shouted, and pulled his hair, and ran out of the room, blinded by the tears, bumping into B.B. and tripping over the rug.

Then he had the guns, the rifle and shotgun, in his arms and was running down the stairs because the elevator was stuck to the street and the car.

Love.

A blind, surging love was all he felt. And it was like the pleasantest drug racing through his veins, pounding to every part of his body, shrieking for gratitude. For a fresh start. Yes. Fate, or some mysterious force, could put the finger on anyone for no good reason at all — but maybe the world wasn’t scheming and planning against him, and after he’d been so good. 

He and Rey would become someone’s squawkers. Solo knew that as he drove recklessly toward the hospital. Coming apart like a two-bit suitcase. The crying had turned to sobs now. Great, choking sobs that shook his thick frame with the violence of a storm. Hope and love, the emotions of violence, were a part of him as he drove into the night, leaving the past behind, crying for what was to be now: a smiling, dancing, loving, motherly Rey.

Sweet Rey.

The speeding car skidded around a sharp curve and continued its steep climb up the hospital road.

Solo fought for self-control. It was important that he stay calm if he were to help Rey, who, at the same time took out her stopwatch and fixed her eyes on it. And helping Rey was suddenly the most important thing in the world to him. This was the only way he could redeem himself for himself. This was salvation. And he wanted it so badly that it made him feel reckless enough to jeopardize his own safety. And that was breaking the number-one rule governing Solo’s world. Gamblers believed in certainty. Investors believed in uncertainty, hedged their bets, and didn’t place all their eggs in one basket. Two necks put all their chips on Ben Solo. He couldn’t fall down on the job.

“You made that in twelve minutes!” she clicked the watch.

“Twelve? It was nine. Lets go!”

This was it. Ben Solo was in the room, pacing before the big bed, barely glancing at Rey. She lay in the bed, the covers pulled up to her chest, her eyes glittering like a two-tone convertible just off the assembly line at the food laid out before her, reaching out for a piece of something, then thought better of it, pulling her hand back and looking around the room. Now she thought of the whole matter from a different standpoint. Suddenly she glared at the room as if it were filled with her enemies, squared her shoulders, grabbed two enormous pieces of bread and covered them with about two pound of assorted food. She squeezed the two halves together into a fantastic sandwich, grabbed the sandwich in her tiny mitts and chewed the corner off it.

“Oh, palpitations! Palpitations. Me and my phony palpitations. Phony palpitations and a leak in my attic,” he said, fighting a knowing feeling that was quickly spreading upward, until he could feel it pressing under his heart. “Hey, God? Hey, God… I’ll make a deal with you. I give you… I give you the sodden carcass of a… of a nervous, weak clod. I give you me. All you have to give is this kid. Please, God. Just give me the strength to get through this. Please… Take me. Take me.”

She couldn’t get rid of the image of Solo’s huge body cradling a little ball, his waxen face and big, black almond eyes. She had always loved Solo, always enjoyed talking to him, especially when Ben was in one of his talking moods. Rey had learned a lot from Ben. Learned a lot about things like history and books and science, particularly, astronomy. Ben had always liked talking about the stars and the planets. Sometimes he would talk about things that Rey could not understand, like the time he had compared the universe to an atom, and had jokingly said that maybe we were just an electron in some atom in somebody’s chair. Something like that. Rey couldn’t remember too well. Anyway, it was too deep for her. But it had been interesting and exciting. Ben’s eyes had lit up and his face had been full of enthusiasm as he talked, developing the idea as he went along, actually thinking out loud.

Rey shrugged her shoulders. Well, so what? He had asked for it, getting wise like that. Who the hell did he think he was anyway. Sentimental slob. His cocktail of sweetheart kisses that melted her body and rough-hewn shank to the ribs. Buying her boxes of silk abbreviations that would end up stained, torn and ruined. Offering her the moon and stars. And then some. Nobody got wise with Rey Solo. Nobody!

“Praying, heh? I ought to be ashamed of myself praying for something like that. I should stop this praying right now,” he shouted, getting back to Rey, “Well, you’re all done around here. I don’t want you giving a finger for the first year of this kid’s life. Understand?”

Rey was wolfing her sandwich. She was still thinking of Ben, remembering how nice he had always been to her, never goo-goo eyes and wolf whistles or making a pitch like other hoods on the loose because she was Hux’s hustling meal ticket, an eight-course meal ticket at that! “Go to a museum for your art lessons,” she used to shout at them. Ben had been sophisticated. He had understood life. He had smiled at her, openly, frankly; and often, she was sure, admiringly. He had made sure nobody got tough with her. He had treated her as an equal. Told her of funny stories. Some clean, some shady, some downright filthy. She had laughed at all of them. And with the laughter had come a bond. A silent relationship that she never quite understood, except that she often thought about Ben. Dreamed about him. Imagined herself in his arms. And Rey being Rey, she also imagined herself in bed with him, making soft, delicate love together. She always woke from those dreams with a warm feeling in her groins.

“Hey!”

Rey turned slowly.

“Where did you get that sandwich?” Solo stopped and exchanged a horrified look. “Where did all this stuff come from!”

“Atts-nawt-yer-eff-air!” she said, hard.

“Drop that sandwich right now, you!” He yelled across the room.

She turned from Solo and considered the food regretfully. Now she stuck a wedge of cheese into the already full sandwich and a few dashes of pepper.

Solo ran to the bed as she held the enormous sandwich in one hand and raised it to take another bite.

“Wot-ah-kant-eeet-EHNUFFIN-doorihng-laayyboohr-atts-juss-mmmeeeeeenn!...”

“When I’m dying you want to eat!”

“...too-mush-peppah…”

“Listen, if you don’t stop munchin’ that sandwich an—”

And she sneezed. Her sandwich deconstructed all over the floor. Solo froze… and then there was an abrupt, stunning silence. 

“Rowh-beta-caww-da-docc.”

Solo took a dazed beat. He peered under the covers… 

Then he recoiled with a yell, “Oh, God!” scrambled from the room, heart pounding...

Twenty minutes later, Finn and Nodin were posed like bookends on either side of the door in the upper corridor with another crowd of guests. 

“No, no, no… she’s just taking it easy and nobody goes in except the father,” Finn said.

“Gangway… come on clear away there,” said Solo.

“Here he comes,” Nodin said.

The door to the waiting room opened quickly and five men emerged: first two bodyguards, then Solo, then two more bodyguards as they moved down the corridor. When waiting for Rey, there was no such thing as a little time. Solo piloted his way through the throng of well-wishers, accepting the cheers and handshakes of the crowd.

“Aha… congratulations,” said a pleasant faced, bespectacled bald-headed little doctor, seeing him. He shook Solo’s hand. “...go in please...shh.”

He opened the door just a little and Solo started through.

Rose Tico sat beside the bed in the softly lighted room, she turned and put a finger to her lips.

Coming into the room, his eyes were full of tears, he came forward on tiptoe. Tico patted him gently on the back and they looked down at the bed.

“Not bad, boss-man.”

“Pretty good.”

Rey was asleep. This girl... Never, never had he seen one so beautiful. This girl who had single-handedly altered the destiny of Ben Solo, by leaving him a legacy, the kind you couldn’t hardly find anymore. As soon as she was ready, willing and able for a romantic assignation, he’d consume her. He’d devour her. For such a creature, one invented a new kind of love. For ten days — ten days — he could go without sleep. For two hundred and forty hours he could make love to her. She smiled in her sleep, then opened her eyes. “Darling,” she said, very gently.

He took her hand. “Little Bit.”

Very softly, she pointed at him, “You look beautiful.”

“You look beautiful.”

“We made it.”

“Yes, we did.”

“I love you,” she said, in a whisper. “I’m very happy.”

“I love you.”

“You’re a papa now.”

“I feel like one… and I will be always… as good as I can.”

After a smile, she asked, “Was it a boy or a girl?... We’ve got to pick a name for it.”

“I’ll find out.” 

“I’m so happy.”

Solo turned to Tico, in a whisper, “Was it a boy or a girl?”

Tico motioned with her finger for him to follow her. They went out a side door, which led through a bathroom to an adjoining room.

Rey closed her eyes and sighed happily.

Solo and Tico were at the end of a small corridor. As they approached, a glass plate separated them from the baby room. Solo looked all the way over from the left to the right and then back again.

Now he pointed a finger at the different foreground pieces. Tico looked at him in amusement then whispered something in his ear. Ordinarily, Solo was not a guy that went ga-ga on lamping a babe, even though, like this one, she made it appear that other gals ran on gas and she was all-electric. Solo was cooked, done for. Fielded a big one. Just one clear shot, square in the pump. There was never much of a chance. He hung onto the glass and his mouth shook. He turned and ran away.

Rey was sleeping. There was the sound of racing footsteps. She woke up and sat up a little alarmed.

Solo came into the room on two wheels. He skidded, fell down, picked himself up, then came rubber-legged, yammering, to the side of the bed.

Rey was frightened. “What’s the matter, darling? What is it?”

“Aah, my two beautiful dolls! How’d I get so lucky? Some people think they're entitled to more. We’re lucky kids. We got the world by the tail. We’d be lucky in a broken-down joint. And it’d be great. Nothing else matters. That’s what makes us lucky. Nothing else matters but the three of us.”

He sank into Rey’s arms as the door burst open and Doctor Koon, Rose Tico, Finn and Nodin came in.

Han Solo had taught Ben Solo everything there was to know about being a crook, but what he never anticipated was this: The ties of flesh were deep and strong. The capacity to love was a vital, rich and all-consuming function of the human animal. And that you could find nobility and sacrifice and love wherever you sought it out. Down the block, in the heart or in a cheap hotel room.


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎤😭Well, my friends, this is where the ride to Nookie Land ends, for us, at least. I want to THANK YOUSE for all the love; every sub, every kudo, every share, every kind word. I'm going to take a short break and then work on my next idea. In the meantime, I'll be helping my pal with her story, which should drop sometime after the release of TRoS. (It will be my first modern fic 😬🤞) So I hope you will join me for those future projects.
> 
> To my gals, Saga and Sasha, I love you both till infinity! THANK YOU for everything ❤❤❤
> 
> Artwork by @ballerosaga on Tumblr.
> 
> My Tumblr: @5-cents

  
By eleven o’clock the house hop at the Solos’ was really jumping. Pneumatic, creamy, heavy-lidded starlets jiggled about in low-cut, skin-tight sheaths. Writers, actors, jockeys and hoodlums mingled in little groups, and drank and smoked and talked and laughed, their arms casually draped around firm, opulent bodies, patting rounded little butts, brushing against pointed breasts. Jazz blared out of hidden speakers, filling the room with its driving heat. There was the clicking of glasses, the loud guffaw, the low, sensuous laugh, the high-pitched nervous giggle.

Nodin Chavdri stood in the center of the room, his lean face red and excited, his arms waving as he talked to a young writer from one of the national magazines. 

“I’m giving it to you straight,” he said. “I’ve never been knocked out. I’ve lost a couple of T.K.O.’s, but never a knockout.”

“How many fights did you have?”

“Christ, who keeps count. I fought them all. I was the hardest-hitting welter in the business, but I didn’t have no goddamn reach. See,” he raised his arms, “too goddamn short.”

“Well, look, Mr. Chavdri, my magazine might be interested in doing a factual piece on you. Nothing sensational, but we would want all the facts.”

“That’s what I’m giving you. Why don’t you take notes?”

“Not now. First I’d like to talk to you. Get the feel of it. Then we can sit down, maybe next week, and work it out.”

“What kind of facts are you interested in?”

B.B. growled at the retreating figure of the writer. A smile blossomed on Nodin’s ruddy mug.

“Well—” he gave a nervous laugh— “the stuff that hasn’t been told before. Your childhood, schooling, fighting career, friendship with Mr. Ren, that sort of thing.”

“Oh, you wanna know about Mr. Ren?”

“I might. It sure would give the boys a break.”

“Attaboy, B.B.”

Nodin patted B.B. B.B. wagged his tail, then growled after the writer.

“You blab sheet boys and mugsnappers keep mooning around Mr. Ren with your camera rifles and nobody’ll know _you_. And that’ll be too bad.”

“Okay.”

“Mr. Ren’s real sensitive about having his picture made. He wouldn’t even be on the bulletin board for the Christmas Collage. It’s just the way he’s built. Besides, I'd rather play nursemaid to that drippy-nosed kid than go back to barking tickets for the Tunnel of Love. I’m crazy about her.”

“Sure.”

“Yeah. How about this layout?”

“That too, of course, but later. We might do a series if we can get enough pertinent material.”

“Well, there’s plenty of that. Don’t worry.”

“Fine.”

“What’s the circulation of your rag?”

“About six million. Goes all over the world.”

“Yeah. How about pictures for this piece?”

“It will be illustrated.”

“Color?”

“Some. It all depends on you, Mr. Chavdri. If we get some good exclusive information, you know, something powerful enough to make an exciting article, then we’ll really do it up brown.”

“Yeah,” Nodin said, grinning. “Well, I’ll fix you up. Don’t worry.”

Ben Solo, the host, lord of the manor, and foremost celebrity at the party stood behind the sofa, leaning over Rey, offering her a drink from his glass. He had an unobstructed view down the front of her gown and as she reached over for the glass he saw clearly that she was not wearing a brassiere. He leaned down further and whispered into her ear.

“Tonight is the night,” he said, letting his lips brush against her ear.

Rey glanced up coyly from under heavy eyelashes. “The night for what?” she asked.

“You know,” he whispered again, his lips sliding down to her earlobe. “Tonight is gonna be your opening night.” Then the earlobe was in his mouth and he bit it gently.

Rey didn’t move as cold shivers tingled down her spine, making gooseflesh on her arms and legs. “You’re silly,” she said.

“Easy to get, too. It’s gonna be the biggest night of the year,” he whispered. “If you know what I mean.” And he let his hand drop on her shoulder, his fingers gently, secretly pulling out the shoulder strap for a better view down the front of her dress. “Those look pretty good. Real juicy.”

She giggled and quickly looked around the room. Ultra-suave frills were giving the punters that seven veil look who were so good-looking, but not as good-looking as her husband Ben Solo. All other men were complete phonies, three-dollar bill type of individuals who obviously assayed fourteen carat brass. One poor, lost dame was all perfumed up when she called up to him earlier, wearing one of those whore-looking gowns. Rey could just hear her saying, “Oh, Ren, da-a-a-rling… I don’t blame Mrs. Ren for holding you over…” Then she made a nasty little chuckle! She must’ve thought it was open season on him. And Rey wasn’t just cat-scratching either. That dame needed cutting down. Rattlesnake tasted, when breaded and fried, like a sinewy, half-starved tilapia. Called “desert whitefish” in Jakku. Quite good when dipped in ranch sauce. 

“What do you know about it?” Rey continued, quick and hard, “It’s about time somebody knock those heels right off their arches.”

Solo was quickly beside her, his arms around her — the tigress suddenly became gentle with her mate and cub.

“Me-ow!” and he kissed her on the back of the neck, “I haven’t seen such an aggregation of a beast since the last time I went to the circus. The little woman is a tiger under the right conditions. All the sweet, prim types revert to the jungle once more. What are you worried about? You got your insurance paid. They’re not my type.”

They were dancing together. “What _is_ your type?” she said, archly. He was holding her from behind and their pelvises were moving together.

“Fat, squat little brunettes with mustaches.”

Purring with delight, she had spun around into her husband’s arms. “Well, when you pick a man like Ben Solo you’ve got to be prepared to battle them off.”

The customers were still lamping him and the doll like they were fillum stars. To one and all, such a drama could only have one end. Outsize Romeo rescues doll. Doll rescues Romeo. Doll dates up. Nine months, she has a little goil to match. It could be billed as “A romance of the Underworld.” But back home, who’d thunk it? Rey Nowheresville from south of the slot married, living in South America and swinging high, wide and handsome. She turned back and gave Solo a long, seductive look. Then she raised his glass to her lips and emptied it.

“Sit down,” she said. “I’ll get you a refill.”

“Don't be long,” he said, and leaped over the sofa, landing in a sitting position.

He waited for her, his mind busy trying to figure a way of getting her alone. There had to be someplace in this goddamn house.

He saw her coming, her wide hips undulating, the tight dress rippling over her flat stomach, her large breasts straining against the thin material. Man, she had the upholstery to make corpses kick open caskets — and she was dead set on giving him rigor mortis. He let his right hand drop on the sofa, just idly lying there, and he smiled up at her as she sat down on his hand. She jumped, startled, spilling some of the drink, but he pushed her back down again, all the time smiling, his eyes slightly glazed and fixed by the wild surging urgency that stirred through him.

He felt her warm, soft buttocks pressing down on his hand, and he moved it slightly until it was centered. His voice was low and husky when he spoke.

“I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want you right now,” he whispered, his face moving close to hers. “I want you so much I ache.”

“Don’t,” she said, her face flushed, her eyes narrowed by the heavy lids. “Don’t move your hand.” And she shifted her weight slightly. “Kiss me,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

He moved back, startled by the request. “Not here,” he whispered hoarsely. “Let’s go somewhere.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wait. I know.” She opened her eyes and he saw the wild desire in them. “The den. I’ll get the key. Meet me in there in five minutes.”

Evangelist Lor San Tekka had all the earmarkings of a cheap crook. He was a tall, ascetic-looking man with thick straight white hair and a high forehead. Lor San Tekka had the kind of voice that swayed people, and it swayed no one more than it did Lor San Tekka. Once he started talking, the sound of it intoxicated him, he talked on and on, moved by the sound and the fury and the rhythm. He never really knew what he was saying. That he left up to God.

Lor San Tekka had a large following of fanatic believers, and he performed the most extraordinary miracles without the slightest effort. In fact, he performed dozens of miracles on television — that is, Satan’s altar — every Sunday night.

San Tekka’s first ambition had been to be a movie star. He came to Buenos Aires by way of Chandrila during the First World War, when there was a shortage of actors, and he did bit parts for six years. It took him that long to lose his Swedish accent. After that he drifted from job to job until that eventful night he attended an old-fashioned revival meeting and got religion. From then on he was a man of God, doing the Lord’s work, bringing salvation to poor sinners. San Tekka had three important assets. He had a loud, monotonous voice; he was a good hamola, and he looked virile as hell. Unlike his acting career, San Tekka’s preaching career skyrocketed him to fame and fortune overnight.

San Tekka’s appeal was to women. He was to religion what Elvis Presley was to rock ‘n’ roll. Middle-aged women moaned and screamed when San Tekka got to preaching. He stood on the stage, waving his arms, shaking his bony frame with an occasional wiggle of the hips, tearing his tie and jacket off, his face pale and ascetic under the high-domed forehead. 

San Tekka’s latest mission was to bring religion to Kylo Ren. He had heard and read a lot about the mysterious Ren, and every bit of information had intrigued him. Kylo Ren was the kind of man Lor San Tekka secretly admired.

Solo now sat in a fat upholstered chair, watching the spectacle unfold before him. He puffed on a long, black cigar and smiled knowingly when Rey stood up and left the room. Five minutes later Solo got up and looked around, then casually strolled out. The crowd unaware of their disappearance.

Hoods mixed with exemplars of Argentinian respectability. Finn leaned back against the bar, surveying the customers dancing rather than listening. Socking it in. In short, rubbing bellies together and, thus, exciting one another. He eyed Solo skeptically as he slipped out. The Boss was bit self-conscious in this crowd, yet still a man of noble bearing. 

“Wait a minute, Boss—”

“Not now, sweetheart. Something’s come up.”

“Come on. You got to learn to be sociable. You can’t grow up alone...” 

Solo felt a sinking feeling inside. He didn’t want to show it but he guessed he was a pretty poor actor. 

“...You’ve got to mingle. All you gotta do is shed a little glamour and laugh at the customer’s jokes.”

That’s all there was to it.

So he wasn’t going to see that black négligée, not tonight. Or the wonderful body that would be in it. He wasn’t going to take the thing off while she held her hands over her head to help him. He wasn’t going to feel her moist kisses. Her smooth white skin, her warm body drenched in passion. Damn Finn. He’d put clothes on a fish. The kind of con that would sell you Christmas cards in July. Damn him to blazes! 

Solo turned and walked out of the room with a belligerent look. He could sense Finn following him. He was ready to split somebody’s face if they tried stopping him again, but missing the hostility, “Go pick a tulip. I gotta get my prick worked tonight.” 

“Jesus. Boss.”

“Hell. It’s been over two months! There’s an old remark — never interfere with the laws of nature and I won’t kill you.”

“So drift!”

Rey opened the door from inside the den. She pulled Solo inside. Kicked the door shut in Finn’s face.

With this drink, his head began to spin a little. He remembered he had come for one purpose, but the liquor was making it harder, rather than easier, to think about it.

Rey leaned on the couch next to him and leaned closer. “Darling, I’ve missed you so much.”

He said nothing. His breath was coming fast. 

Rey kept filling his glass but it hadn’t helped any. They played more of the old platters in the other room, and the lump in his throat felt like it was going to burst. Listening to those old records was like reading old love letters. It raked up the embers. 

He was trembling and sweating.

“I’ve dreamed about us being together again… here,” said the caramel-haired, freckle-faced, green-eyed goddess in the gold lamé job of obvious design, pushing him into the chair. “I’ll sit on the arm. See, just like this.” And she sat down, smiling at him through heavily mascaraed eyes, her swelling breasts directly in front of his eyes.

“Well, that’s mighty nice,” he said, giving her his most powerful soul-saving smile.

“You’re cute,” she said, and giggled nervously, shifting slightly on the arm of the chair, her breast briefly rubbing against his nose.

“Well, thank you,” he said, staring at the flippant breast. “Are you with the Lord, my child—” and he patted her knee spiritually. “Have you found your peace?”

“Oh, you’ve been talking to that bible-puncher,” she giggled and laid her elbow against the back of the chair.

He laughed and looked up, his eyes barely inches away from her smooth armpit, and he saw the light freckles, the even texture of the flesh. It was like looking through a magnifying glass. It became the most desirable thing he had ever seen. It was flesh. It was gorgeous angel kisses. It was sex in the most basic form. He glanced up and looked into the green, teasing, knowing eyes. He knew that the vein down the center of his little head was swollen and thumping furiously.

“You love me?” she asked, forming the words carefully.

“Yes, little one. I’m gonna help you find your way to God.”

“I’m playing for keeps,” she said, without smiling her eyes covered by the heavy lids again. He patted her knee a couple of times, then slowly his fingers closed over the firm, nyloned leg and he squeezed, bringing his face up close, and she moved forward, her breast pressing against his cheek.

“Take me,” she murmured.

“Good Lord,” he said, his voice hoarse and shaking, his face paralyzed against the warm, soft breast.

“Forget the Lord,” she whispered without moving. “Think of me.”

The vein dividing his inflamed head was dark and throbbing. He squeezed the knee a little more and his hand slipped up her leg a fraction. “Praise the Lord,” he said. “While we banish Satan.”

“You’re fractured,” she said moving away, looking down at him amused. 

“I do the work of the Lord,” he said, and moved closer, trying to reestablish contact with the breast. “We must ask the Lord for strength. We are but poor, miserable sinners. Weak of flesh and spirit. Pray with me, my dear. Pray for salvation.”

Rey laughed and stood up. “Man, you’re gone,” she said. “Real gone.” And she hurried away, leaving him sitting there with nothing but the throbbing vein.

The frustration sent desire flowing through his now limp body. Dark, seething desire that grew into a wild fury. He glared across the room, seeking the target for his monstrous longing. Suddenly he was on his feet and striding across the room to her.

Now he reached out for her, his face red and bulging, with a familiar inexorable emotion. “Rey — I—”

She whispered and suddenly wiser than he, “I know… I know what you like, baby. I like it, too. Let me show you. I’ll make it so good for you.”

A low growl tore through the room. Raw, fierce, exalting. Rey had ever made that sound before!

They sat there on the foam divan, in the semi-dark and the sudden silence. 

Her face was about six inches from his and he could smell her heavy perfume. Even in the murkiness he caught the strange look in her eyes. A look that could mean only one thing, in his book.

She was throwing him all the cues. He put an arm around her and pulled her toward him, then planted a long and deliberately passionate kiss on her velvet lips. She pulled away a little, drew a breath. Then she pulled herself hard against him and wiggled just a bit. This was it. His hand reached inside her gown. 

“Wait, darling—”

She locked the door. The gold gown floated to the floor. She stood there in front of him, spicily delicious, unbearably seductive. 

What did he want? An engraved invitation?

He kissed her at last, with pent-up violence and hunger. There was a tremendous sense of release and relief as their mouths and bodies pressed together.

He groped for her. “Rey, Rey, I—” His arms moved around her. Her reaction was convulsive. Her hands moved over him in lust and love.

He kissed her again and she stumbled and sagged against his hand and then he lifted her to the couch. She was breathing hard. He kissed her bared breast.

They kissed, lying across the leather sofa, and the fever seized them again. Their perspiring limbs locked together in sinful embrace...

Solo and Rey floated on a cloud of post-coital bliss. She was lying back, gently stroking the nape of his neck. He rubbed his cheek on her belly, gazing longingly over the swell of her breasts. He inhaled deeply, his face suffused with dreamy pleasure.

“Why do you bother with perfume when you smell like this?”

She lifted his face in her hands. Ben Solo buckled his belt and moved away from the leather sofa and the reclining Rey.

“Put on your dress,” he said, lighting a cigarette.

“That sounds funny coming from you!” They both laughed. “Why, don’t you like me the way I am?”

“Well, sure, honey child.”

“I’m practically a grown up woman.”

“You’re the works, everything plus! I just got tussled by the most dangerous animal in the world! That’s the kind of thing that bonds a man and a woman.”

“Looks like you lost the bout!”

“Certainly wasn’t a draw! You know, there oughta be a law against dames with claws!”

“What’s the matter, you don’t like the manicure? You don’t think they’ll accept me into high society?”

“They’d accept you into heaven and you wouldn’t even have to dress for it.”

She lay on the white sofa, her gold-brown body still quivering with hunger. “Again,” she said, holding her arms out to him. “Again.”

“Later,” he said.

“No, no, this minute.”

“What do you think I am?” He laughed nervously.

“I know what you are,” she said, wantonly pressing her hands against her body, looking at him through narrowed lids, her lips parted. “You started something. Now finish it.”

“Have a heart.”

“Come here,” she said, “and I’ll give you one.”

“For God’s sake, what’s wrong with you?”

“You started it,” she smiled, suddenly up on her elbows, letting him have the sultry, sideways glance and the lifted eyebrow. “Be a good daddy and finish it.”

“I need to build me a drink first,” he said, going to the bar.

“You clipster,” she squealed, jumping off the sofa.

“Good God!” he cried, backing away from the bar, his mouth sagging open, his eyes wide and unbelieving. “God Almighty, what is that? It’s alive!” He pointed at her as she crowded him into a corner.

Rey ran forward and stopped, spurred by the sight. Quickly she dropped to her knees before the now frozen, stiff body and stared at the waxen features, the glazed, sightless eyes.

Then she cried, the sobs shaking her body, his hot and heavy length pressed into her mouth, her eyes lidded with ardor. Ben Solo, the only man who had ever shown any respect for her, standing stiff, spiraling into the depths of madness and pulsing very gently in and out as his taste exploded on her tongue. There was more, too, more than just worship for a husband. There was this feeling of a secret passion. She remembered the nights when she had dreamed of a man like Solo, and how in her mind she had fashioned a great throbbing romance.

She threw herself on him, pressing her nude body against the stiff, warm flesh.

She kissed him hungrily. She cried hysterically, rocking and moaning on her bended knees.

Finn ran down the hall and knocked on the door. The door opened and Solo stuck his head out.

Rey, nude, was on her knees before Solo’s body. She looked up, stunned, gasping for breath. She got to her feet. She stood between his back and the wall.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me say GO AWAY,” he shouted, picked up a waste paper basket and threw it at Finn and Nodin. He missed. Rey ducked behind Solo’s shoulders. Solo spread himself but looked uneasy. “But first clear out the place. The clambake is over. Yeah, the way I figure is this: I, uh, I’m a sybarite.”

“Ah, g’wan! Be yourself!” Finn snorted.

“You don’t have to look scared. That’s Greek. Unlike that obscene little gentleman known as Joe ‘The Black’ Christakis I used to run around with. No, this is a different kind of Greek.”

“Joe the Black?”

“The Black for blackmailer. One of my partners. An old hand in the rackets.”

“How about the Ladyship Estelle Marie?” Finn said, looking at his watch. “It’s only midnight. Miss Tico can’t get her to stop crying.”

“I’ll get Stella. Get them out of here. Go on! If they start cracking, heave them out.”

“I’ll do it in reverse. I’ll make ‘em feel like fish peddlers.”

Finn and Nolan left and Solo looked around the room, then at Rey, looking around, not dressed yet. 

“We’re not done yet, Dada.”

With a sigh that was the quintessence of futility, followed by a forced chuckle of self-pity that Fate has dealt him such an ugly blow, he said, “Alright. Alright. Alright.” Then more softly, philosophically, “Ever since I can remember, women have been running my life. Do this. Do that. Come to dinner. Don’t come to dinner. Change my diaper.”

Rey was starting out of the den, then something caught her eye. It was a piece of stationery on the floor, it had fluttered out with Solo’s handwriting on it. She smoothed it out.

The nursery was a lovely room with a shiny linoleum floor. In the floor were inlaid, and on the walls were painted, Mother Goose figures. The room contained a nice slide with a mat to land on, a playhouse for the child against one wall, the usual collection of rocking horses, wheeled sheep, lions, elephants, blocks, etc. B.B. and the new puppy, Dodo, were sleeping in their little doghouses.

Slowly, he approached the crib, knowing he was a soft touch, always ready to jump through hoops the moment he saw her. She was gonna be a solid sender, loaded with enough to pass around, this kid. Almost as good-looking as her mother. He stood above her and looked down and the anger evaporated. There was only serenity left. He was cool, straightforward, at ease, and alert. He picked her up, kissed the crown of black feather-soft hair, “Who’s the lovely Ladyship? Smart as my eye! I’ve seen all kinds of routines, all kinds of routines. But you clever little cookie, you. This is the old reverse English, isn’t it? The old twister-oo? Why you sharpshooting, sharpie! You knew I’d jump, didn’t you? You little Solo, you. You knew I’d jump. I’ll tell you what. I’ll jump every time. Mainly on account of your good politics to be my best buddy. That’s what my pop used to say. Hey, Pop, you’re my best buddy. You always will be. Can you say that? I swear, you’re the cleverest cookie in the... You ought to be in politics. That you get from your grandmother.”

When he looked up there was Rey, in a lovely dressing gown, who had followed him, standing by the door. She was beaming at him, eyes filled with tears. Solo was stunned, the baby in his arms, sitting in a princess pink armchair, confused by the intensity of her reaction. He stared at her a moment, then he saw the crinkled letter in her hand: —

“Dear, ~~Old Geezer~~ Luke. To answer your question — Because of her, I don’t have to feel like a chump if I get down on my hands and knees to play with my kid. I can hold her up, and I can say, ‘Goochi goo,’ you know, without feeling like some kind of a jerk, and it’s alright, because my wife’s heart is soft, and she’s soft, and she allows me to be that way. What I am is a man. I was made that way by a woman, okay? Not by a girl, and not by some chick, but by a woman — and she allowed me to be her friend. She trusted me, and that snapped my head. And the money and the public relief and the therapies and the courthouses and the years in jail — twelve years in prisons — and the beatings and the shakedowns and whatever all I’d been through — I couldn’t do in my life. They couldn’t push me to it. They couldn’t pull it of me. They couldn’t burn it or ~~torture~~ twist it in. They couldn’t buy it out of me. A simple little girl from Jakku comes along and changes one wrong guy, man. Yeah, it’s great when you got somebody to love you. It really is. Your nephew, ~~Lord~~ B.S.S.”

Ben, now comprehending the enormity of the situation, told her to “Come here,” as the full force of his admission sunk in. “Sit on my knee here. Good girl. That’s my baby,” he said, worshipfully. He gave her an affectionate hug and a kiss. He called to B.B. and Dodo. There were yips from the dogs. Rey turned to him, trying to hide her emotion under a pretense of necking. He looked like a king. 

Ben Solo was home.


End file.
